The Elite
by Fate.of.Gabriel
Summary: Doing what rich people do is easy." Same old story, Twilight twist. St. Olaf's is a prestigious boarding school, dripping with money, sex, and social hierarchy. But there's only one question to ask yourself: are you one of Them or one or The Elite?
1. Incomparable Them

**The Elite**

**Disclaimer: **It's not my sandbox. I own nada.

**Rating: NC-17 (drug use, sex, language)**

**Chapter I: Incomparable Them**

"_**Doing what rich people do is easy."**_

-Robert Kiyosaki

St. Olaf's Academy was the second most prestigious boarding school in the country and the outright the best co-educational boarding school. Anyone who was lucky enough to grace the hallowed halls would certainly be in competition for any number of Ivy League colleges.

Settled against a small lake in rural Massachusetts, the ivy-covered bricked and wrought iron buildings were nearly were dark and forbidding, while the manicured lawns, stone paths, and perfectly shaped bushes welcomed with just a hint or arrogance and the almost tangible aroma of money.

The students passing by were all blue-blooded, genetically gifted people; not just in intellect but in physicality. There were no genetic defects here; no bad hair cuts or skin marred with pimples. There were no Target-brand labels, no second hand sneakers, not a single wrinkle in their designer label clothing. Their jewelry was real and glittered even in the unusual, overcast weather. Thousands of dollars literally hung off the bones of slender, perfectly curved bodies; dollars that would be tossed into the back of a closet or shipped off to a goodwill store within the year, replaced with new couture.

And then there was me, standing outside the gates to paradise, looking woefully worse for the wear. I tugged at my over-starched, button-up shirt, wanting to feel sophisticated, wanting to fit in. But my poor grassroots stood out like a mustard stain against a silk tie, blue-collar might as well been tattooed on every pore of my skin. It seeped from me, like some sort of odor they all could smell that reeked with "not one of us."

And I was not one of Them. My almost waist-length, light brown hair was like coarse hay after a rain. I swear I could almost smell the mold coming off of me. My second hand, off-brand tennis shoes were recently clean, but I could still see the deadening of the white they once must have been.

At least during the week we would all wear uniforms, but there was no way for me to hide what I was on the weekends. The truth would come out.

I had carefully stacked my two suitcases in the middle of my room, not wanting my roommate (a Miss Jessica Stanley) to feel like I had swept in there and taken over the place by choosing a bed and a desk and a closet first. I ventured outside into the cloudy but warm day. I tied my knit sweater around my waist and began to explore my new home for the next three years.

Everyone walked in either pairs or groups, arms slung around each other as they reminisced over summers probably spent at some gigantic summer mansion on some very privatized lake resort. As they passed me, they split like the red sea, almost like I didn't exist except for as some pothole in their path. They glittered and shone. They dazzled and effortlessly charmed and intimidated. They looked right through the plain, naïve girl from a poor, small town as if I were invisible to Their jaded, bright eyes. They were the elite, and I would never be.

"Hey! New girl!"

My head snapped up. Maybe I was not so invisible after all.

"Yes?" I cringed at the sound of my unsophisticated twanging tones sounding so redneck next to the pealing bell tones of the supermodel pretty blonde girl in front of me.

"You're in Whitlock, right?"

The name of my dorm had me nodding automatically. "Yeah, I mean yes, room 302." Perhaps this would be my new roommate?

The girl nearly blinded me with her smile.

"Excellent! I'm so glad I caught up with you. Listen, I live in 307 and I was wondering if you would mind switching me. Jess and I are best friends and we lived together all last year, Dean Patricia must have been taking some cruel enjoyment in messing with our arrangement or something, I sear she has it out for me." Her brown eyes rolled in her head like mad. "So would you mind…"

I smiled meekly, knowing my face was deflating, nodding ever so slightly.

"Oh my god, you're the best. Thanks so much."

"Sure. I'm-" But my words died in my throat as the blonde scampered as best she could in the tiny little pink miniskirt she was wearing over to her group of friends. I could overhear her telling them that I had agreed. They cheered and moved on, leaving me behind.

"Man, that was _brutal_." A lingering male drawl came from behind me, sending goosebumps down my neck. No voice could make four words sound so slow and sexy but a southern one. I turned on heel, seeking out some sort of familiarity amongst this strange new world.

I nearly gasped at the gorgeous man who was standing there in a pair of caramel colored Abercrombie's and a dark blue button up, rolled at the sleeves, exposing honey-colored, sun-kissed forearms that were defined with sleek muscle. I don't know why those forearms were the first thing I saw, perhaps because he was so much taller than me, but when I did glance up at his face I froze like a statue.

His hair was a light brown with highlighted blonde tips, cut short but curling at the edges as it framed a strong jaw and chocolate eyes. His bone structure was square; his lips a tad too thin, but quirked up to expose perfect teeth. He wasn't very broad except in the shoulders, but he was a man solidly built.

His eyes were travelling over me as well, assessing every inch. I blushed and shifted slightly away, uncomfortable with how close he was.

"So you're the new sophomore." He mused in that perfect, slow drawl. I stared at the ground. "Got a bit of that southern belle sweetness in you, dontcha?" He grinned at me and I dared to look at him. He leaned in and I inhaled deeply. "Well anytime you want a taste of home, angel-face, you just let me know. I'll have you bent over my—"

I jerked away with a dismayed, horrified sound, blinking back tears of embarrassment. The man just chuckled and tipped an imaginary hat towards me before sauntering off. I turned on heel, walking away from the male laughter I could hear coming from his buddies. So stupid.

Tears were threatening, and so I walked as far away from the central quad as possible, not paying any attention to where I was going. By the time I stopped, well away from any laughter or prying eyes, I was on the farthest corner of the south end of campus, in front of a solitary three story building with the words Eliza Kelly carved in stone over the curved double doors. The music hall, named after some heiress who had graduated from St. Olaf's in the 30's and became a famous opera singer before catching her husband fooling around with the pool boy and slitting her throat. My tour guide had told me that when I visited last spring.

It was a sad looking building, and perfect for a solitary cry. I had no interest in choir or band, but the sound-proof practice rooms would be of great use to me.

I wouldn't let Them see me cry, wouldn't allow myself to be seen as weak and a doormat. I had studied for years to come to this school, skipped grades in elementary school, read high school booklists, memorized my timetable through the sixteens, and scrapped every leftover penny and dime together in a ceramic turtle to pay for room and board. I had begged my mother, who was always so disappointed in me, to let me have this chance if I was lucky enough to get a scholarship. I had been crushed last year when I hadn't been selected, that the money had gone to some other girl who probably didn't want or need it as badly as I did.

When the news came in April that the girl would not be returning to St. Olaf's, I was elated. It might have been a year later than expected, but I was going. I hadn't even thought to wonder why the other girl would leave such a place. I now had a fairly good guess.

But I wasn't leaving. They might be glamorous and bright and ten trillion times better than I was, but this was my shot, and I wouldn't leave. Cry, yes. Leave? Not over my dead body.

And so I trudged to the third floor, where a long corridor of practice rooms awaited. I tried the first two, both locked. I sniffled and pushed at the ornate doorknob on the third. It pushed open.

I heard a belated gasp of surprise as I barged in, but it was too late. My tears were falling, making my vision swim, a shimmer of gold and black swirling through the tears.

I blinked furiously and the gold became long, flaxen waves of hair, the kind I had always wanted as a child. The black became a baby grand piano with the lid down, just sitting there in its' majesty, waiting on someone with the skill to play it.

But the golden-haired goddess was not playing it. Instead she was sprawled out on top of the piano, clothes askew, twitching and shivering in a tight ball. Her head had risen when I barreled through the door, hair falling in her face.

She was wearing the school-mandated uniform of white dress shirt, navy tie with the St. Olaf emblem, and navy and green plaid skirt. Her fingers were clenches tight in the study material of her skirt, her tie was yanked at and crumpled, and her once perfectly pressed shirt was horribly wrinkled and damp with sweat. That odor of sweat filled the tiny room, even though she was shivering.

I gaped at the fallen angel.

"Get. Out." The words were grounded out from beneath clenched, chattering teeth. She couldn't even hold her head up long enough to look at me as she collapsed back onto the piano.

"S-sorry." I turned to leave, bringing the door shut behind me. Clumsily, in my panic, my foot stayed in the doorway, causing the door to bounce back open loudly.

A low groan came from the slumped over girl. "Don't go."

I was positive I had misheard her. "What?" I asked softly.

"I need. H-help." She let out a low whimper of pain, trying to lift her trembling body up. I rushed to her, grabbing her shoulder and she shifted onto her back, her damp, messy blonde tresses floating around her like a magnificent, dirty halo.

Her face was as exquisite as the rest of her, even under the circumstances. Dark, plump lips were cracked and bitten, and the lightest blue eyes I had ever seen stared back at me, surrounded by red veins. There were swollen circles from crying under her eyes, but her long lashes were still attention-grabbing. Her cheekbones were high and her nose haughty, she was the epitome of what I imagined a future housewife to a billionaire looked like. She was a trophy, but a trophy in a great deal of pain.

I knew, intuitively, that this was not a girl who asked for help easily. She was not someone who admitted to having any flaws or weaknesses, much less ones that would cripple her like this. She wouldn't have asked me to stay if she wasn't desperate—and scared. And even if under different circumstances, she would make my self-confidence nonexistent and make fun of my JC Penney clothing, I was not so cold-hearted to make her suffer alone.

"Are you sick? I could fetch the nurse."

She shook her head vehemently. "Not sick."

I took her in bloodshot eyes and her tiny, tiny pupils. I exhaled loudly. "Are you-are you _on_ something?"

Her eyes closed tightly. "Not anymore."

I swallowed roughly. Sure, I knew kids did weed and drank. But actual drugs that couldn't be grown on the roof of some run-down apartment building? I was in way over my head.

"How can I—what can I do?"

She shook her head at me again. Nothing. Nothing but sit here and wait it out with her.

"How long have you been here?" She would have been in her uniform for the official welcoming banquet I had missed last night.

"What time is it?"

"9:30."

"Since since 7. There was a party in Edtin."

Edtin was the grubbier half to West Ealing Lakes, the upper crust of rural living in Massachusetts. The public school was in Edtin if I remember correctly. I had been driven through both this morning after taking the red-eye.

"You're freezing. Here." I unwound my white knit sweater from my waist and draped it over her. She clutched at it, though we both know it wasn't doing any good. She nodded a thank you to me.

"We need to get to your room."

"They would see." Her use of the incomparable "They" was not reverent like mine; instead it was filled with venom and scorn.

"You can't lay on a piano all day. How did you get in here in the first place?"

"Key."

She had a key to the music hall?

"I'm guessing you don't come in here to practice your arias." I said dryly. I could just imagine how beneficial it was to have access to a soundproof room anytime you wanted. She choked on a laugh.

"Sister Anch-chilla is blind as a bat. Kids I know stole her keys. They made copies."

The infamous They again. "Are you a They?"

She swallowed roughly and licked at her lips. "Not. Anymore."

I frowned. Was she expelled from them because she was using? Or had they kicked out for another reason? Or just possibly, could that distain in her voice earlier mean _she_ had been the one to remove herself from Their presence?

I sat there, watching her struggle, watching her fight, for two hours. Neither of us spoke, neither made a sound. I watched from the piano bench and slowly the shaking quieted and the cold sweat on her brow disappeared. As she raised herself to a sitting position I offered my assistance in helping her to the hardwood floors and she clutched my hand tightly, gratefully. We eased into the hallway, her breathing tight and tired as she handed me the key I hadn't noticed in her fist, the notches in the key breaking the skin of her palm. I dutifully locked the door and handed the key back. Of her own will she took my hand and we walked to the giant staircase. She slung an arm around my shoulders and we painstakingly maneuvered through three flights of stairs. She groaned in relief as we exited the building into the fresh air. Belatedly she tugged at her ruined shirt and grimaced.

"Why were you at a party in your school uniform anyway?"

"I wasn't. The party came to me." Her voice was hard.

"Oh."

"I'm heading to Whitlock." It was a statement obviously disguised as a request for help in that direction. I hid a smile in the face of her pride.

"Me too." I murmured as we walked off the path, hoping to avoid people. Her hand still clutched mine.

"You're not a freshman?" She was surprised; it was a look that didn't sit well on her face.

"No, sophomore."

"Thank god. What room are you in?"

"Um…307 I guess." Now that I had been walked all over like a doormat.

She nodded mutely. We reached Whitlock Hall after a healthy walk and made our way into the elevator with only a few witnesses to our plight. She didn't stop to talk to any of them, though they were looking curiously at us. I didn't blame them. Even rumpled and sick, she was beautiful. I was now sweaty too, and still just as plain and out of place.

She finally released my hand to press the buttons for three and five, the top floor where you could pay for your own private suite. Of course she lived on fifth.

We rode in silence until the doors opened on my floor. I didn't look at her as a exited the tiny elevator, so obviously built well after the original building.

"Thanks." I turned at her voice, surprised. I hadn't been expecting her to even acknowledge me ever again. "Seriously. I wouldn't have blamed you if you had gone running out of there and well…I'd probably still be up there shaking. I just—thank you." Her eyes were solemn and humbled. I had humbled the golden goddess. I was speechless. I just nodded and turned back to the long hallway of hell awaiting me.

"No problem."

My ears were waiting for the doors of the elevator to ding shut. They didn't. I turned back around to find her standing in the doorway of the elevator a hand extended into the hallway, towards me.

"I'm Rosalie." Of course she was. She was destined for beauty.

I retread my steps and took her hand, noting how the French tips were now mangled and bitten. Another flaw on what should have been perfection. My own small fingers wove into her longer ones.

"I'm Alice."


	2. Darwinism

**Rating: M (drugs, sex, language)**

**Pairings: Non-canon**

**Chapter II: Darwinism**

"**Mothers of Teenagers Know Why Animals Eat Their Young"**

"Well Samantha swears it's impossible for a female to have an orgasm unless she's bent over with her head between her knees….well she would know wouldn't she? How much of the senior class has she slept with…hold on. Are you listening to my private conversation, you dyke? Sick! Oh my god Jess, you'll never believe what the new girl is…" The (bottle) redhead swept out of our room and I rolled my eyes.

I t was almost midnight on Monday, one week of school already passed. One week of utter misery of being refused from sitting at all the tables of the cafeteria, of having my name mocked, of having people glance over me and scoff visibly before sweeping past, too self-absorbed to even tell me where my geography class was located in this maze of halls.

The worst had been at dance team auditions. They didn't have ballet classes, but they had what equated to a cheer squad minus the yelling and with the benefits of music. I had been in ballet since I was two when my mother was so desperate to get rid of me in the early afternoons that she lied about my age despite the fact that I was (and continued to be) very small for my age.

I didn't even get a chance to audition.

They had started with seniors who hadn't been on the squad before. Then juniors, and finally sophomores and freshman for the junior varsity squad. They had skipped my name right over, like it never existed. And when I approached the very intimidating, very tall senior captain, whose legs went up to her neck, she gave me a bored look.

"If you were worth the time Brandon, we would have called you."

A couple of the senior girls choked on their laughter, trying to hide it but not succeeding. A couple of the Varsity squad actually looked a bit sick at the blunt edge of her cruelty; not bothering to be hidden, just stated outright, the truth for everyone to see. I if I was worth the time to be at St. Olaf's, they would have called me the first time, not when some poor girl had dropped out after just one year.

Horrified, the tears fell before I could stop them. Biting my bottom lip to stifle a sob, I walked off the football field.

"Face it sweet-cheeks, even if someday you do manage to break into the inner sanctum, you're not gonna be anything but their whipping girl. Why would you want to torture yourself like that?"

I angrily turned to the stands, where the southern pervert was lounging, still in school attire, tie loosened, bag slung across his chest, hair tousled stylishly. His jacket and white shirt were open, exposing a faded red Twizzlers t-shirt with a tongue splashed across the script.

"And you sexually harassing me is pleasant conversation to me?" I bit out, ruining the words with an angry hiccup/sob. I sniffled loudly and scrubbed at my eyes with the back of my sleeve.

"Not sexual harassment if you want it, angel. Just come on under the bleachers with me and I promise you'll forget all about those skanks." His signature grin accompanied the come-on, slightly lopsided and almost more smirk than grin. It wasn't a bad look by any means, and even in the midst of my horror, I wasn't blind to how gorgeous he was. The problem was, he knew how gorgeous he was.

I flipped him a single finger and once again departed his company with laughter ringing in my already bruised ears.

That had been Friday. I had hidden in my room all weekend, not leaving for meals. I needed to get to the library, but would do without the supplemental reading my literature teacher had all but snarled was actually mandatory.

The only downside to hiding was Claire, my roommate. She was paranoid I would steal from her and had immediately told me that she would be very carefully monitoring her belongings and that I wasn't allowed to touch, much less borrow her things. Ever. Her shockingly (fake) red hair was curly and teased within an inch of its life and she was meaner than any alligator or rattlesnake I'd ever come across.

And to top it all off, in the week I had been suffering, there had been no sign of Rosalie. The one person who had extended her hand to me was nowhere to be found. Not at meals, not in classes, not at any of the extracurricular activities that students swarmed to after school. If it weren't for the fact that her name was called everyday in both my geography and Spanish classes during attendance and the gossip that circulated to me (via Claire on the phone to someone else), I'd think she was a hallucination. A bizarre, wishful dream.

A staccato of rapid beats on my door pulled me from my thoughts and I sat straight up. I opened the door, expecting one of Claire's equally nasty (and truly stupid) friends, but instead stared when I found myself facing down the Captain of the Dance Squad of Doom.

"Alice Brandon?" She inquired in a bored, cultured tone, tilting her head to the side.

"Yes?" I said quietly, noting four of the other members of the squad behind her.

"You're late."

"For what?"

"Initiation. All the freshman are gathered and waiting except you." The look on her face told me there was nothing she'd like better than to squash me under her expensive footwear.

"I'm not a freshman."

"You're new. Same diff. Get your ass down to the lake." She took a step back and made a sweeping motion out of the door.

"No." I wasn't about to be peer-pressured and humiliated anymore. There was no way I'd squeal like a pig for her or any of their sick sense of satisfaction.

"No?" Her tone was acidic. My jaw squared.

"No."

One of the girls behind her looked at me with wide eyes. "Brandon, it's just one stupid prank. If you don't do it, they'll make your life hell for the rest of the year."

"Shut up Brittany." La Capitaine hissed. The girl's mouth clamped shut.

"Sam…antha." Another said quietly. "Miss Morgan is gonna be doing bed check soon. She'll call all our parents if she catches us in here."

Miss Morgan was the hall "mother". Each floor had one, and ours was a stern old lady who took the rules very, very seriously.

"The lake Brandon. Or else."

"Or else what? You'll tell me I'm not the worth the neurons it takes you to form a sentence? You've already done that. I'm not doing your stupid hazing bullshit. Now, good night."

A new voice entered the conversation. "Guess that clears that up for you then, huh Sammy?"

The girls turned in unison. Samantha's eyes narrowed. "Where the hell have you been Hale? We missed you last Saturday."

Her blonde hair positively glowed under the dim, overhead hallway lights.

"Haven't been much in the partying mood lately. Besides, my father went through his annual guilt trip over cheating on my mother and it was just in time for many of the designers to release several previews of their fall lines…before fashion week. "

A low murmur of jealousy went through the troops. I stared blankly at her, but she wasn't looking at me.

"You always were one lucky bitch Hale." Samantha conceded reluctantly. "But you're getting in the way of school tradition here…"

"And you know how we do treasure tradition here at dear, old Olaf's, but I think I'm going to have to go against the grain this time. I'm vouching for Alice, so you're going to have to pick on someone else."

"You're saying she's best test-driven…by you?"

"Do I need to use smaller words? My father is on the school board and invited our newest scholar to our beach house in Miami. Lucas and I took her out on the yacht."

"Mhmm. How is your luscious brother Rosalie? God, he's so gorgeous." Brittany purred.

"And so smitten with his supermodel girlfriend. But he'd be happy to hear you asked, once I remind him who you are."

The girls stiffened.

"Fine. We'll consider her…initiated. But I want proof Hale."

"She's moving into my suite. Need more proof than that?" Rosalie countered. "Nobody should be stuck with your bitch of a step-sister DeLane."

Captain legs up to her tit snorted. "No shit. Even the alligator child doesn't deserve that." She glanced at me and snarled. "We're going to miss the festivities. See you around Hale."

"Bye Rosalie."

Rosalie looked at me for the first time, clad in my pajamas, which I hadn't taken off since Friday night. It looked like she was trying to stop her nose from wrinkling. My hair was in a tangled braid and my feet were bare, exposing my chipped nail polish.

"Claire DeLane is spreading rumors you're a lesbian klepto. Clearly we're going to need to hire a hit man to erase all the damage that girl has done in just one week."

Her smirk was triumphant; I was less than pleased. "Were you really shopping? And what was all that bull about test-driving?"

Rosalie glared at me, took my arm and led me into my room. She locked the door and opened my closet. She took an armful of clothes on hangers. "Ok, so rule one. This school is small. There are probably thirty people with their ears pressed up against their doors who will be repeating and exaggerating that little scene to one another for the next month. Watch what you say, where you say, around who you say it. Which means it would probably be most beneficial to you not to speak for the next three years."

I opened my mouth to protest, she cut me off. "Grab some stuff will you? I'd like to get the hell out of here before Satan's stepchild gets back. And of course I wasn't in New York perusing shops! Are you kidding me? Did you see me last week? I've spent all week in my room shaking like a whore in church. Withdrawal from heroin isn't exactly a fucking cakewalk, alright? So my story is that I was shopping, because goodness knows people will talk. So it wasn't a big deal to call up some sales managers and suggest that since I, or more correctly my father, is such a loyal customer that they send some samples from the fall lines to St. Olaf's. They'll be arriving in a couple of days, which means the only people in creation that know about this are you and the asshole who sells to me."

"I wouldn't tell." Rosalie eyed me with a less hardened look, her features slightly blank with unfamiliar emotion.

"I strangely believe you. But I also know better, so we're gonna be best friends. I'm planning on a truly historic exile from the land of milk and honey, and I need somebody who isn't brimming over with artificial boobs or LaBoutin stilettos."

"So you're serious about me…moving in with you?"

Rosalie exhaled and turned to look at me, her arms overflowing. "Alice. I may have been wallowing in a pit of utter hell for the last week, but I hear stuff. I took one step out of my room this afternoon and I've got people telling about dance tryouts-" I flushed in embarrassment in anger, "-about that cunt-whore Whitlock, and now Claire. Did you know the last girl on your scholarship had a sex tape floating around the internet, taken by some of our wonderful, oh so upright young men right here at St. Olaf? That's why she left. The girl before her didn't make it a month. In the history of Olaf, maybe a dozen of the Outreach scholars have graduated, and maybe four of those weren't cracked like a scrambled egg when they left. The girl last year? She pressed charged because she didn't know she was being taped. Lucky for the douche bag who did the taping, his papa's a judge and I'm sure some money exchanged hands and everything went away. The charges, the headlines, even the girl in question went away. How fair does that sound to you? So let me do you a solid and put us back on equal footing."

I gathered up my sheets and comforter. "Equal footing. You're going to get me through the next three years and I sat with you for two hours. Not to mention…" We were never going to be on equal footing.

"Listen. I stopped using as soon as I got home from school last summer. I holed up in the pool house and told everyone I was gone to Florida for the summer to visit my brother. Yet as soon as I get up to this fucking place and have to deal with people pretending to like me, pretending to know me, pretending to be anything except for human, I flaked. I tried to stay in last Saturday, but too many people were calling, stopping by. Then _he_ stopped by with some friends and figured, what the hell. I hate all these people anyway, why not hate myself too? I'm one of them. Don't ever forget that. I may hate them, but I am just like them. Just like them.

So now I'm back at square one and the only solution is to permanently remove myself from their good graces. If they don't feel the need to be nice to me, I certainly would feel the need to play that petty, catty game with them. So pack up your shit. By the time graduation rolls around, you might hate me just as much as you hate them."

And she reached out two free fingers to flick the lock and yank the door open wide, taking almost the entire (meager) contents of my closet and striding out, leaving the door wide open for me to join her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rosalie's suite was actually two rooms and she had already managed to secure a bed (a much comfier bed) for me. It was sitting in the room that was probably supposed to be the "sitting" room. So we'd each have our privacy. Rose's bed was a double, mine was a school-issued single.

"Those skinny-ass mattresses are the greatest enforcer of abstinence in the entire universe." Rosalie had told me as I dropped my stuff in my new room. "Many an egotistical boy has lost his game by falling off the bed while trying to get laid."

I giggled. "I don't think I'll have to worry about it."

Rosalie hesitantly collapsed on my pile of clothes, which were thrown over the sofa in the corner. "Not if Whitlock has anything to say about it."

"Whitlock..." I repeated, already having a pretty good guess as to who she was talking about.

"Jackson Whitlock., more commonly known as Jax, most commonly known as a pain in the ass who doesn't care whose ass he's messing with. Senior guy, has sexual predator written all over him. Texan drawl even though I'm pretty sure his gin-soaked mother bought him a place in Boston when he moved here."

"Whitlock…not as in Whitlock Hall, right?"

"His great-great grandfather or somebody. He fought for the confederacy during the Civil War, then, instead of losing every last cent like everybody else in the south, his relative donated a sizeable chunk for his daughter to attend school here, since his son had died in the war. You'll hear that story ten thousand times, from Jax, from the professors, and certainly the sleazy, money grubbing members of the board, my unfortunate excuse for a parent included. There's always a Whitlock here at St. Olaf's. But his parents just got a divorce and his younger brother went to live with his dad in Texas. His mom lives the high life 24/7 apparently."

"Everyone really does know everything, don't they?"

"What could you possibly mean Mary Alice Brandon of Biloxi, Mississippi, age fifteen, but you'll be sixteen on October 30th? Your mom doesn't list an occupation, you're dad works at some sort of factory, you have one older sister named Caroline, and your scored a near perfect on your entrance exams. I had a friend of mine look into your file. I'd imagine others have done the same."

"That's illegal."

"You'll learn that legal and not legal is more of a state of mind around here."

I breathed in, trying to catch up with the wildly spinning world that Rosalie was succinctly and bitterly filling me in on. Could I fit in here? Where people were so disingenuous and cutthroat? Maybe if I learned to have that thick skin Rosalie seemed to have wrapped around her so firmly, as though it never came off. Maybe she couldn't take it off, other than when in the perils of withdrawal from mind-altering drugs. Was that the price for surviving, thriving in such an environment? Would I also find myself brittle and emotionless? And was it worth it if it meant I never had to go back home again?

And for better or for worse, I made a choice.

"So avoid Jackson Whitlock, that was kind of my plan anyway. What else?"

"Avoid the Skank Tank, also known as the sole club in West Ealing. They're only supposed to let eighteen and older in, but the underclassmen, the chosen ones that is, find a way in. Avoid the DeLane sisters, there are four of them, and they're all stepsisters."

"All of them? But some of them must be real sisters, unless….ew." The mental math made me wince.

"Samantha's dad got four women pregnant in the span of about five years, only one of them he was married to at the time. Child support must be a bitch. Claire and Daphne are in our grade and they hate each other. Samantha has been a Homecoming princess every year and will be crowned queen this year, come hell or high water, and the fourth one is a freshman this year. Alma or something equally as disturbing."

"Because Alice is so much better." I mumbled. I had been named after a grandmother.

"Better than Mary. Can you imagine the oh so clever quips the horn dogs would come up with? Virgin Mary would only be the beginning. Alice is unique. You're unique and you have every right to tell us as a collective whole to fuck off, in fact I suggest it."

I smiled. "I might have to practice in my mirror."

Rosalie smiled and looked at her now perfect nails. "I saw you stand up to Samantha DeLane, and so did her clones. You can handle yourself. Besides, I'll be there to de-ball anyone who steps over the line. Plus there are a couple of guys who are solid, they'd probably love to shake things up a bit at our beloved school."

"Really? Your friends who are exceptionally gifted thieves?"

"Sassy. I like it. And yes, they would be the boys in question. Garrett is a crazy mother-fucker, I swear his mom must have downed enough cocktails when she was pregnant to severely disable his sense of common sense. He's a bit of mystery in how he'll react, but he'll enjoy the spectacle regardless. Edward will be in. He's the one who enjoys taking what isn't his. I'm pretty sure he thinks it's just some big, cosmic oversight that whatever he wants isn't just his in the first place. He's big into music, so at least his key was put to good use. He despises a lot of the girls here, not really sure why. I think he's got some kind of kink for slumming. Bit quiet, bit intense. Really enjoys his brooding if you know what I'm saying. Girls dig it, the artist with depth façade. Got to admit worse things have happened genetically than Edward Cullen."

There was a long pause.

"They sound…nicer." Nicer than Jackson Whitlock anyway.

"Nicer huh? You really did have a shitty week if the idea of pairing up with two resident hotties, one of them an upperclassmen, doesn't even get you to smile."

"Resident hotties huh? I'll fit right in."

"Don't do that to yourself. You'll end up like Michael Jackson, I saw something just like it on TLC last week."

"Consider me forewarned and thus forearmed for an attack of disintegrating noses."

Rosalie laughed outright and got off my clothes. "I cleared out half of my closet, though god knows you won't use all of it. Put your stuff in there. I'll call my dad about having a wardrobe brought up for when my new clothes get here. Tomorrow we'll talk to the boys."

"Then Mission Shock a Skank goes into effect?" I grinned at her, but there were a peculiar set to her pouty mouth. She looked a bit grim in fact.

"I know you're excited, I am too. But Alice, there are going to be…repercussions for this little plot. Nothing is free here. Not the labels, not the illicit activities, not even your friends. You have to give up something to get something, you know? So…maybe think about what it is you're _**not**_ willing to give up, ok?"

I sat in my new, much larger room well into the night, pondering what exactly I had left to give up, while Rosalie disappeared into her room for the remainder of the night.


	3. Rapunzel

Disclaimer: Not my sandbox, not even my sand.

"_**She is pure Alice in Wonderland, and her appearance and demeanor are a nicely judged mix of the Red Queen and a flamingo."**_

~Truman Capote

Chapter 3: Rapunzel

I thought I was doing a very believable impression of a potted plant until Rosalie tugged my arm and placed me directly in the path of two seriously stacked GQ-esque men, if men could, indeed, be described as "stacked." She literally tugged me from my library chair and placed my petite frame in front of her tall, equally stacked one. I felt like someone should be singing that song from Sesame Street, "which one of these things is not like the other ones…"

Today was not a good day. Classes had finally ended, but the damage had been done, which was why I was now trying to hide in the library, even though I had little interest in my biology project. I had been there since four o'clock, just staring at my text book. It was now a quarter to eleven and the library aides would be coming around to kick everyone out, if they even noticed me sitting there. Until I'd seen a flash of blonde and heard the uncanny sound of four hundred dollar shoes clacking against the tile.

I was about to raise my head and say hello, only I suddenly saw two much less feminine legs following behind her from the corner of my eye. I didn't look up.

"…could be handled better in a low-key setting. Besides, Garret, you've been here three years, it's about time you saw the inside of this place."

There was a dry, unamused chuckle in a deep bass tone to my left. "Hilarious Rose. But what exactly do you want people to think? That we're…dating or some bullshit? Her?"

I bit my lip until it was almost bleeding, but continued my impersonation. Or implantination. Whatever.

"No asshole, we wouldn't _define_ it. Why don't you just use a Sharpie and write 'junior high' on your forehead. You know what; just put three boxes on your forehead, one marked boyfriend, one marked friend, and one marked maybe. Let people think what they think. Two of us, two of you, one interchangeable group unit. Think about it Garrett, two girls for the price of one."

I blanched. Rosalie's tone was still business like and rude, but the implications, no matter how bluntly put out there, still stung. No one would want me without the addition of a blonde supermodel to fulfill all their girl on girl fantasies.

"Tempting. But what if Kate…"

"No. Absolutely not. This is a business arrangement just as much as it's a chance to shove their two hundred dollar, chrome plated dildos up their asses, if not their mouths. Anything to get them to shut up for two seconds. It'd be epic Garrett, and it'll stay epic because we'll agree to keep this to a four person maximum."

Silence. The other pants, the ones to the right of Garrett, were silent. His shoes were the standard issue black dress shoes, but they were scuffed like he often dragged them against the floorboards.

"So you'd get your glory day Hale, but what's in it for us?"

I got goose bumps on my arms, and not from just the words themselves. The sound of that voice, mildly baritone and decidedly musical, was a blow to my hearing. Rosalie sounded like trailer park trash next to that accent and the richness of his speech.

"The assumption that you're nailing two girls simultaneously." Rose's voice was stiff.

"They'll only see it as one girl." Garrett objected.

My gasp was audible, but nobody paid any attention to me. I was now shaking with anger and embarrassment, but the conversation went on.

"This—" Abruptly Rosalie grabbed my arm and yanked me in front of her, in front of two sets of assessing eyes, "is Alice. She's ballsy and not a saline copy of the other girls you've ever met…except for maybe you Edward." She shot a look of distaste at him, which he just shrugged at. "Nobody's had the best of her yet, which is more than you can say for the majority of our female population. So who gives a fuck about what they're saying; you should damn well know it's what people _aren't_ saying that really counts."

Edward's light pink lips pressed together at that barb and suddenly there were light green eyes on me. Focused solely on me, with an intensity I didn't know people at this school were capable of showing. They travelled over my flushed face with an almost scientific method, before travelling to my clenched fists and my school uniform. They came back to my face. His eyes crinkled just a little at the corners, but his mouth didn't turn up. It was the oddest sensation, to know that he was smiling without any physical evidence of that whatsoever. I turned my head away.

"What the fuck happened to her hair?"

Garrett was gaping, Edward's eyes were once again like grey-green stone, and Rosalie stiffened behind me. I reached for the hair that wasn't there anymore without thinking, and took off for the library exit as fast as my shaking legs would carry me.

I followed the dirt paths across the lush grounds of the quad, following the sparkling lake, past a small smattering of trees that eventually led into the mini forest that surrounded St. Olaf. Designed to create the illusion of an educational utopia in God's country, or unwittingly used to create a circle of hell for those who aren't worthy.

I kept running, running from my thoughts, running from the lingering knowledge that I was one of the unworthy ones. All I wanted was to be back in my old school, smiling and laughing with my friends, comfortable and happy. Why had I ever wanted to leave? I wasn't usually such a depressing creature, not usually so alienated from people. I had been an A student, a student body representative, a piccolo player in the marching band—

"Ooof!" The air rushed out of my lungs as I ran face-first into a tree.

A tree with a beating heart, four very solid limbs, and the smell of Bulgari cologne. Those limbs closed around me like a coon trap, simultaneously steadying and trapping me in the clutches of two very beefy arms.

I had run into him at full force, he had only staggered back one step. All my fury going in one direction and he couldn't even be bothered to fall on his ass. I huffed angrily, only to inhale another deep whiff of a cologne that might as well have screamed either '007' or 'why don't you just get on your knees right now and save us the trouble of having to pretend to talk?'

He was a giant of a boy, and he wasn't letting go. I had run into him without ever seeing him in my path. I had literally rammed face-first into his chest; my nose was currently buried in her sternum. I could hear the heavy thud of his heart, could feel every heated finger he had on me as we stood plastered against each other from foot to thigh, nose to chest.

I pushed at his chest and he pushed me back by the arms carefully, setting me no more than a foot away from his chest. I wanted to take another step back so I didn't strain my neck.

He looked down and I looked up.

He was a bit sweaty and probably on the dying leg of a run. His eyes were so dark, even in the moonlight I knew they could only be brown. His hair was tumbled and curled and clearly tangled. He was wearing a sleeveless, cut-off shirt and shorts which displayed his muscles to their best advantage, which was bulging. And his dimples were utterly lickable.

"I'd guess cross-country practice, but you're a little overdressed. Besides, with the look on your face, boxing club might be a better fit."

I looked down, wishing the ground would just swallow me up already. Hadn't I endured enough? My thoughts cut off. His feet were _enormous_.

"You could at least say thank you. I did catch you, after all."

I jerked my eyes back up. "Who said I needed to be caught?"

The mammoth shrugged his shoulders. "I've got a thing for damsels. You a damsel?"

"I'm the ugly stepsister you meathead." I snapped. To my surprise he chuckled; a ringing, boisterous sound that shook the leaves.

It took a couple of minutes, but his laughter died out. It was the first laughter that wasn't directed at me cruelly, and so I endured it tersely, not sure whether I should just turn around and walk back or continue fleeing.

His large hand grabbed mine, not even offering it, just thrusting it over my own and shaking it. My entire arm shook. "Emmett McCarty. You're in my art class."

I tried to remember, but how could I have forgotten such a mountain of a man in the one class I felt the tiniest smidgeon comfortable? "_You're_ in my drawing class?"

His grin widened. "Technically. I haven't actually attended it yet, but I have a friend who stole the roster for me. You're Alice Brandon."

I had a very good idea of who that "friend" was. I tugged my hand out of the flesh oven it was encased in. He wasn't offended, I'm pretty sure he didn't even notice. His eyes were fixated on the right side of my head, directly behind my ear…

I pushed past him, pushing really just being a word to describe going around him, because he didn't budge. But he also didn't come after me as I continued farther along the path.

I'm not entirely certain if I was lucky that very path circled around the back of the school or not, seeing as how I probably would have ended up stuck in the woods. But I still wasn't ready to go back. I had run so far, only to end up right back where I had flown from in the first place. I leaned over my knees and wheezed in pain. These people were crushing me, one by one, bone by bone, every sliver of pride.

In the background, behind the study spruce tree I was hiding behind, I could hear girls calling goodnight to their boyfriends and the answering male calls, all reveling in being young and as close to untouchable as possible. Curfew was at midnight during the school week; pretty soon campus security would be strolling by to hustle in late night stragglers. In one particularly loud exchange, I heard one ridiculously high-pitched squeal of not-so-secret alt cry, "Jax, give me my bra back!"

I snorted and wiped my nose, leaning my back against the bark, not caring if I tore my otherwise pristine white shirt. I was tingling all over with something beyond embarrassment, beyond the breaking of fragile adolescent pride.

"Alice?" Rosalie appeared at the back door of our dormitory, waving her cell phone's light in my direction. She really didn't need the extra light, except that it made her golden hair look silver blue white and even more mythically beautiful than ever. How had she even known I was there? Had she been waiting for me?

"Jesus Christ Alice, you just lost us a prime candidate! Garrett's out, not that I'm surprised, between you running out of there and your—" I knew exactly what was about to come out of her mouth.

"Don't." I practically snarled, my hands going up to my ruined hair. Rosalie abruptly cut off, an action so out of character for her, it actually looked painful. "I don't give a fuck if Garrett doesn't want to fuck me. I really don't. Because I don't want to fuck him."

Rosalie huffed. "I wasn't all that crazy about the idea either you know. But if we want to pull this off, we kind of need him."

"Not 'we.' Let's clear that up. This is no longer a 'we' situation. I don't need you packaging us as a freaking clearance sale item just so you can flip off the student body. I'm perfectly capable of telling someone to fuck off if I need to. Let me demonstrate: fuck you. Fuck you Rosalie."

I walked away, fury still pulsing in my fingertips. Rosalie watched me go, a blank, hard look on her face. I walked back up to our suite. I didn't think she'd follow me, but I wouldn't lock her out of her own room either. Which left me one room for privacy.

I walked into our tiny bathroom, with its standing shower and tiny sink with equally tiny mirror. Funny how Rosalie never complained about the size of the mirror like I expected her to. Hell, I thought it was too small, what did that say about _me_?

What was left of my two French braids hung behind my ears. Two narrowed eyes stared back at me, furious and stark in the crappy lighting. And I felt the heat of horror wash over me once more.

Sixth period was right after lunch and I was unfortunate enough to have math. Geometry was fine, but after lunch I was sleepy and wanting the day to be over. So, like every other student on the face of the planet, I spaced out on the teacher, my hand propped up on the side of my face.

I didn't even register the sibilant "swooshing" sound until I felt something tickle the shell of my ear and heard the gasps and not so smothered snickers behind me. My head snapped up and one of the braids I had so painstakingly done that morning was no longer resting against my shoulder.

I looked down, over the edge of my desk. A perfectly braided rope of hair at least seven inches long lay there, like a fallen soldier on a battlefield.

I had screamed; the teacher had turned from the problem on the board and then everything was silent. I had turned around to stare at the girl who was still holding the scissors, looking stunned. Like she hadn't expected it to actually cut off my hair. I didn't even know her name; I had never spoken a single word to her.

The teacher had sent me down to the office. His face was pitying and sympathetic, and I knew he would be balling out the class while I had to explain what had happened to the Dean.

I hadn't even taken my stuff. For all I knew, it was still sitting on top of the desk in the math classroom.

I had skipped seventh and eighth hour, first in the Dean's office and then with the guidance counselor. When I was finally released I hid in the library, intending never to come out, intending for no one to ever see me again.

I fingered the now slightly below chin-length hair on the right side of my head. It wasn't horrendously hacked or damaged…just weird-looking.

I never cut my hair because girls in the south had long hair. It was what was considered attractive. Very feminine. My hair wasn't particularly lovely or curly, it was rather dull and plain. My mom used to give me haircuts when I was little, but eventually I had snipped off the split ends carefully on my own, adding simple layering in the summers when it was muggy and hair stuck to my neck and forehead.

I walked out of the bathroom and went to my desk drawer. It was actually Rosalie's desk, but she admitted she would never use it and so I had pushed it into my half of the suite. I had a pair of sewing scissors in the bottom drawer along with my sewing kit. Buying second-hand clothing meant being creative and often fixing tears and buttons. Sewing scissors were sharp and sturdy, if a bit bulky. I would need something better in the future. But for now…

I returned to the bathroom and loosened my left braid. Pulling the strands tight I clenched my jaw and held up the scissors. Several inches floated to the ground easily and I stared, mesmerized just like the girl in class. I shook out my hair and felt tears welling up. I savagely pushed them away. It was hair. I was not that girl.

My head felt strangely light and there was a heightened sense of instant gratification as I snipped a bit more. Anger wasn't letting me feel this; this was painless. Just because someone had done this out of hate or disdain for me, I wasn't going to let it be another thing kids laughed about. I could control this, just like I told Rosalie.

The hair fell more rapidly.

Rosalie was sitting on the sofa when I emerged and her eyebrows rose almost up to her scalp as she surveyed me. I was covered in tiny pieces of brown hair, my neck itched, and I probably looked a bit wild, but she said nothing. I ran a hand through my shorn locks and began tugging off my school uniform.

I ignored her as I dressed for bed. I tossed my covers aside, marched over to the light switch and plunged the room into total darkness. I lay down and pretended to sleep.

Nearly a half an hour went by before Rosalie got up and went to her room, closing the adjoining door.

The next morning I was out the door before Rosalie was even up. I spent all day in the library, skipping class after class, and yet no one came looking for me. I hardly saw anyone all day, and those who I did see only looked at me strangely, as though they couldn't place me.

During dinner, when almost every single student would be in the caf, I returned to the suite, noting that Rosalie's clothes must have come, as there was now a huge wardrobe in her room, visible from the doorway.

I snorted and tossed my book bag on the desk. Its weight knocked something onto the floor. It hardly made any sound at all.

I reached down and picked up not one, but two rectangular boxes. A woman smiled at me from the front of the first one as she whipped her dark hair to the side. The other had no picture.

The plain print read "onyx shine." The mostly unlabelled black box had the words "fire engine" scrawled in neon red across the top.

I smiled, recognizing a peace offering and a good idea when I saw it.

"Thought maybe it was a little bit rude to just go around telling people to fuck off." Rosalie appeared in the doorway, out of school dress. I wondered if she had skipped school to run into town for the hair coloring tools, or if she was skipping because she was waiting for me. "Figured this was a little classier, less me and more you. Kind of like a Hallmark card."

I nodded, still looking at the boxes. "I know how to use this," I held up the black dye box, "but how exactly does one go about getting red streaks into one's hair without looking like Clair DeLane?"

Rosalie laughed and stepped into my room. "If you want, I'm sure two eyes reading the directions are better than one."

We squeezed into the bathroom, largely because I was sitting in the tub and Rosalie was doing all the work in what little floor space we had. Her fingers (encased in latex) rubbed my scalp as we sat in silence. I knew she wouldn't apologize, that it wasn't in her nature to do so. I broke the ice instead. "So…Garrett's out?"

There was a small pause in the circular motion of her fingertips. "Yeah, he's out. He would have been out anyway. He's been pussy whipped by this girl Kate for years and just recently she started giving him the time of day. He doesn't want to admit that's why he's too chicken shit to do it."

I nodded mutely. Rosalie cleared her throat.

"But that's not exactly a problem because Edward called me earlier while I was at Walgreens and said Emmett McCarty came up to him and wanted in. Said something about damsels and 'fucking fairy tales' I believe. He's no Garrett, but he's one of the most popular frat wannabes in our grade. "

There was a long, poignant silent. I pretended not to hear the accusation in Rosalie's tone. "So we're back on?"

Rosalie snorted. "Fuck 'back on'. We're better than ever, but answer me this first before we return to our evil hatching of plans. How did Emmett get his frat-packing six pack into all this? I wasn't aware that you knew he existed, much less that he would be a suitable candidate for throwing the system. His daddy's a military man, West Point. The system might as well be tattooed on and shoved up his ass."

I knew her left eyebrow was raised into a perfect arch. I coughed and tried not to fidget. "We have art class together."

Rosalie choked and began coughing she was laughing so hard. "Emmett McCarty takes _art_?"


	4. Properties of a Square

"_**If you want to know what God thinks of money, just look at the people he gave it to."**_

~Dorothy Parker

Chapter Four: Properties of a Square

The note was written going against the standard, starchy blue lines of a notebook page. The pen was standard black and the scrawl was impossibly round, with one looping curve rolling into another until it looked like very feminine scribbles.

_Meet me at lunch._

She had slipped me the note in second hour Spanish class just as the bell was ringing, which gave me two more class periods to study the note and the motive behind using a note to express what could have been said out loud at any given point of the day, even in Spanish.

Rosalie knew I had been avoiding the cafeteria. I hadn't been there since my first week while she had been recovering from her little drug binge. Rosalie had been sitting with some of her former friends, politely gathering information and not hinting that anything was amiss. She hadn't invited me to go with her before, even when she knew I was existing on crackers and string cheese.

So why now?

The hair? Now that I didn't look quite so country mouse was I suddenly acceptable? Or was this simply implementing our plan? And if the latter was correct, shouldn't I be informed of these decisions so that I had a say, rather than a note in hand?

Rosalie had her own motives for helping me, I knew this. Things were still a bit tense since I had cursed her out. Stunts like this were not likely to aid our devious little plot.

My eyes glanced towards the note during art. They rarely left it during study hall in Mr. Danvers room. When the bell rang for lunch, I let every single student pass me as I trudged to the cafeteria.

I grabbed a soggy burrito (apparently it was Mexican food day) and wondered how a school of this caliber could have such crappy food. Didn't people complain? Or was this just a very crafty way to promote painful skinniness? I got a bottle of water, paid for the meal and scanned the round tables in the massive black and white tiled room.

They were sitting to the left center of the room, of course. I stood there for almost three minutes panicking before I saw them. Them. Rosalie and Edward sitting next to one another, both looking in my direction. Of course they wouldn't wave, it would be uncool. It was much cooler to let your pseudo friend stand in the middle of the cafeteria lost.

Edward was looking perfectly disheveled as he watched me approach. His eyes did a repeat tour of my every inch before he went back to glancing around the crowded, buzzing room.

Rosalie was smiling with a touch more arrogance than usual. She nudged a chair back for me and I sank into the plastic seat next to her.

"Hey Alice."

My head shot up. Edward was smiling at me too (_oh_ my) and his tone was warm, like we were friends who saw each other all the time.

"Hey." I replied, remembering that this was all for show and forcing the frown of bewilderment off my face. And what was a better stage than this? The entire student body was gathered like animals at a waterhole. The seniors took up the majority of the there-to-be-seen tables, and the lucky juniors who were asked to sit with them were cattily glancing back at their friends in social hierarchical triumph. The juniors were also near the center, literally surrounding us. I wondered how Rosalie had gotten such a table, since the juniors and seniors were released earlier than the underclassmen. On the fringes of the cafeteria, enviously watching the action in the center, were the sophomores and freshman. Many of their eyes were glued to our table, specifically on me. I had been getting that a lot today.

"I heard quite a few people talking about your new look. You'd never guess that it was a result of some disastrous prank." Edward continued the conversation smoothly, his baritone velvet sex-operator tones admiring and slightly teasing. Like he knew me well enough to tease me about my drastic change. "It's genius."

"What's genius Cullen?"

I looked up from my tray when I heard that deep bass rumble. Two trays were being plunked down next to me, each overflowing with a variety of tacos, burritos and a healthy dosing of "tater oles" which looked a lot like plain old tater tots to me.

Emmett McCarty looked strange in school attire. Edward looked arrogant and devastatingly Robert Sean Leonard in _Dead Poets Society_, but Emmett looked a bit…strangled. Like he and his suit jacket were having a fight and the uniform was winning. His shoulders strained against the jacket, and his tie was pulled loose the minute he pulled out the chair next to me and parked his massive body in it, thus framing Rosalie and I as the center of a very odd portrait. As he sat, I glanced down at his enormous feet, expecting them to even more monstrous in clunky dress shoes.

Red high-top Converses.

I grinned and he caught my eye. He returned my smile with a wide, jaw-breaking smile of his own. I blinked twice. He smirked and turned his attention to his trays.

"Alice's hair. It's rather…spunky."

Emmett didn't wait to finish chewing. "What about her hair? She looks just the same to me."

All three of us stared at him.

I had actually seen a girl collide with another student because she had been staring at me on my way to class instead of looking in front of her to see where she was going. Many people didn't seem to believe the Alice of today was the same as the Alice of the past couple of weeks. The sheer amount of heads turning my way, not to mention the hands that immediately went up to cover the mouths that were whispering frantically, were disconcerting. I tried to ignore them, putting on my best show with a smile.

And I supposed what Emmett could be implying was that no matter what I did to my hair or my face or my clothes or whatever, I would always be that white-trash southern girl from a poor, broken home. But his tone wasn't cruel, and I didn't feel offended. I felt like he didn't care what I looked like, a first for me at this school. He had seen me crying, sweaty, disheveled and missing half of my hair; and now he saw nothing different in the spiky, short layers with undertone streaks of neon red. Like maybe he saw beneath both exteriors, no matter how different.

It felt like a compliment.

I gloated silently while the other three held some very unscandalous lunchroom conversations. I ate my soggy burrito and even gathered enough confidence to gaze around the room.

"Can I walk you to class Alice?"

I blinked my attention back to Edward, who was smiling at me like he knew my thoughts. Rosalie smiled as well. Emmett looked a bit put out.

"Uh, sure, I guess. I have math next, in the Kessler building." Well duh. All the math classes were housed in the Kessler building. Edward just nodded and didn't comment.

"Let's head, shall we?" Rosalie said, standing with her tray.

"But there's still five minutes left and I think Emmett could probably stuff in a bit more food if he really wanted."

Edward had also stood and was now pulling my chair out like I wasn't even in it. He leaned over my shoulder and grabbed my tray for me; Emmett was doing the same for Rosalie, though he was shooting me a mock-evil glare over the food comment.

I felt the brush of Edward's tie and jacket as he leaned in, could smell him as I inhaled in surprise. If there was a cologne out there that could bottle the way he smelled—like laundry detergent, boy, and sex, it would be called 'instant orgasm.' The boy was lethal.

"We're making an exit while everyone is still here to watch it." He murmured to me and helped me to my feet.

"Oh."

And with every pair of eyes watching, the four of us glided out of the cafeteria.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Did you walk Rosalie to class this morning? Is that why she sent me on my merry way alone?" We were meandering down the path to Kessler, a friendly distance apart and yet side by side on the narrow walkway.

"I tried, but she got defensive. Classic Rosalie. I'm pretty sure my walking her to class was less about the women's lib movement and more about her embarrassment of taking a remedial math class."

Rosalie was in remedial math class? That was a surprise because event though I had seen her at presumably her very worst, I still thought of her as some sort of type-A perfectionist. I guess it made sense though. I assumed that everyone had academically earned their acceptance into the academy. But money spoke volumes and chances were it was the people that could afford to go to St. Olaf's that paved the way for scholarships that allowed me to be here.

Still, analytical, calculating Rosalie and math seemed like a perfect fit. I wondered how her other grades were, especially considering what I had seen when I met her. If she was doing _that_ on a regular basis last year it was no wonder she needed extra help.

"You sound like you know Rose pretty well." And I was realizing I knew her not at all.

Edward's face quirked from his serene demi-god mask for just a moment into surprise and then quickly back. "Not as well as you do, if she lets you call her Rose."

Interesting. I stopped for only a second, trying to remember if I ever had called her Rose out loud. Mostly I had been thinking of her as Rose in my head, the name I had given the girl who I lived with, not who lived amongst Them.

"Rosalie and I have gone to the same schools our entire lives. We even went to the same nursery school. That doesn't really make us friends, of course, but there is some history there. Very few people ever saw Rosalie in the fifth grade when she was going through her awkward phase."

My jaw must have dropped. "Rosalie went through an awkward phase? Like with the braces and the bad hair and awful coordination?"

Edward looked amused by my awe. "And so did I. It would be a mistake to piss off someone who has photo evidence of that unfortunate part of puberty."

My inner self giggled. He said 'puberty.' I laughed, trying to push past that miniature streak of immaturity. At least there was no one here from Gorman Middle School to blackmail me with the ghost of yearbook photos past.

Edward glanced at me. "I like your laugh. It's much better than the sound of trying not to cry."

I flinched. Edward walked a fine line between insulting me and teasing me. "Thanks for mentioning that."

Edward shrugged. "You're a brave girl. Reckless and borderline desperate, but brave. You don't need to do this to survive here."

Why, that arrogant little…I raised my eyebrow at him, channeling my inner Rosalie. "I don't want to survive, I want to excel. And if _you_ don't want to be a part of that, then maybe _you_ don't need to be doing this."

We were outside the doors of my math class on the second floor by now. Edward pulled me by the hand out of the tide of student bodies. His eyes had gone dark and he deliberately loomed to his full height as he backed me against the row of lockers. An irritated hand tugged on the front of his hair. When he released it, it looked like it hadn't moved at all. How much product did you use if….focus Alice. Focus on the intense, beautiful boy staring daggers at you.

"I didn't mean that you can't handle this…whatever this is going to be. I was trying to-"

"-warn me off. I know. Why." I phrased it as a demand.

"This isn't the time or place." His voice was low as he bent his head closer to mine and I was suddenly aware of how close he was guarding curious eyes against our little conversation.

We had attracted "train wreck" phenomena. Students were slowing down to stare as they passed us, like they couldn't possibly tear their eyes away even though they couldn't hear what we were saying. The whispers turned into a low hum as students turned to their friends like little insects and began buzzing.

"You started this conversation Edward Cullen, now finish it."

Edward's eyes widened and then dropped immediately down to my lips. To the source from which his name had been drawled slowly but forcefully. He looked…aroused. Like hearing his name had been some gigantic turn-on. I felt another giggle fighting its way up my throat. I swallowed.

One of his hands, which were veiny and impossibly long-fingered, reached out to fist itself in my jacket. He pulled himself another step closer, so now we were less than two inches apart. The buzzing got even louder as the pace of students slowed to a virtual crawl.

"Alright, Mary Alice Brandon. I was warning you off because I'm—we're going to want things; things that a sweet, uncorrupted girl like yourself should probably hold onto until some future CEO puts a rock the size of his fist on your finger. And I'll be goddamned if I'm going to be made to feel guilty about wanting those things. I won't. I _don't_ feel guilty. So maybe you should take the emergency exit to your right that I'm offering to you and go into Mrs. Traftan's geometry class and we'll consider this just a surreal little daydream."

His eyes were burning holes into mine. His hand was still clenched in the lapel of my jacket. I would have to be the one to remove it, if I wanted to remove it at all.

"You're quite…_valiant_, Edward. Noble almost. We chose you for this, remember? I know what I'm giving up, and I know what I'm getting. So relax. You're not leading a lamb to the slaughter."

His pupils were dilated so that his eyes were mostly black, with only a rim of light green. His lips, which were just a touch too thin and exquisitely expressive, curled into a half-smirk. "Yet."

I laughed softly and reached up to tug twice at his tie. "You're going to make me late to class."

And just as I said it, the bell rang overhead. Edward's fingers loosened but didn't release the fabric of my jacket. He smirked down at me. I smirked right back at him, less effectively, but my point was clearly taken. I disentangled myself, ducked under his arm and into class.

That day, half the sophomore class was late to sixth period.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

During eighth hour biology, while I was filling in punnett squares, a messenger came to deliver a note that sent me to see Dean Regan again. I took my belongings with me, seeing as how it was 3:30 and school would be out in a half an hour. I accompanied the kindly lady back to the administration buildings, smiling at many of the women who were in charge of attendance, grades, and other assorted paper trail kind of things. They smiled back and two even winked in approval of my hair. After all, it had only been yesterday that they had seen me near tears with half of my hair cut off by a pair of dull scissors.

I was sent right in. Dean Regan was a graying man in his fifties with a handlebar mustache that did not match his balding head well. He reeked of cigars and wore copious amounts of tweed, but was a kind man overall who just happened to have a lot of pride in St. Olaf's Academy. It gave me hope that the children who I went to school with would eventually grow up into decent people. Not a lot of hope, but just a glimmer of what happened once you took the spoiled teenager out of this surreal isolation and put them into the real world.

"Miss Brandon…" Dean Regan's eyes widened as he looked up from what was presumably my file. "I understand that the past two weeks have been difficult for you, and you've shown amazing fortitude in weathering the transition, but the, ahem, extreme measures you've taken in adjustment are outside of school policy."

Cutting and dying your hair was an extreme measure? At a high school? God forbid these people ever attended public school.

I smiled at him. "How so Dean Regan?"

"Our dress code policy clearly states that hair color is to be of natural origin only."

I let my eyes widen. "So you're saying no girl has ever dyed or highlighted her hair ever, sir?"

His look let me know he was onto my fake shock. "More so that we promote natural hair colors, Miss Brandon."

"'Natural hair colors' sir? I assume that means blonde, brown, black, and red sir, correct? So technically I am not out of dress code and therefore not breaking any rule, right?"

Dean Regan's bushy eyebrows drew together and he reached up to smooth his mustache. He stared at me for a long moment.

"If I said so, Miss Brandon, the red would have to go. However, since the rules are rather vague, I'll let it go. Chin up, Miss Brandon." He smiled at me and I knew he had just done me a favor. I thanked him and practically danced my way out of his office.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I ambled down the pathway, intending to head back to Whitlock Hall, plenty aware of curious eyes following my every move. I kept my eyes down, but not because I was embarrassed. I felt like I was holding in a smile that would expose my little ruse. A smile so big and crazily vicious that it would crack my face.

I changed tactics and instead headed down to the lake, planning on doing some of my work on one of the benches, out in the sunshine.

I propped open my copy of _The Crucible_ and the sheet of "thinking" questions assigned along with the due chapters. I propped my feet up on my biology text book and took up (almost) the entire bench, without having to scrunch up my legs like any normal-sized person.

I yawned several times and fought the urge to check my watch. Around me the sounds of people laughing and talking came and went, like the early September breeze. I could hear the crew boys yelling in unison as the sound of paddles hitting the water and making it rush lulled me into a state of distraction.

I finished the chapters and did the questions without very much thought at all, and then moved onto geometry. If possible, it was even more tedious. Back in Biloxi I rarely ever had homework, now I was practically swimming under the tidal waves of chapters, problems, essays, and lab reports.

By the time I moved onto the political structures of Central America, most of the students had disappeared, probably for dinner. And while I had had some degree of success today, I wasn't about to chance two appearances in the cafeteria in one day.

"Waiting for me?"

I let my eyes rise slowly from my geography book. I meant to meet his eyes, but instead they seemed to be permanently fixed on his tanned chest, which was utterly bare and oh wow, defined. Not six-pack defined, but cut lines down the middle of his stomach, and visible creases a couple of inches above his low slung, burgundy shorts. A perfectly round belly button rose and fell with his harsh breathing, with a visible trail of hair disappearing into those same shorts. With the light coming from behind him, it was like he was built for sunshine; that the color of the early fall sun made his skin copper.

I flushed and sat up straighter, tearing my eyes away from damp flesh and meeting dark eyes. "What?"

He grinned down at me. "I asked if you were waiting for me."

"Um, no. Just doing my homework. It's nice to be outside after being cooped up all day."

He nodded and picked up my stack of books, placing them on the ground and then lifting my feet so he could sit. He took up well over half the bench as he sprawled out his limbs. My feet were deposited over his thighs.

Behind him I saw a group of guys, almost all of whom were shirtless, heading towards the dorms.

"You're on crew? I mean, you play…how exactly does one go about saying that you belong to the sport where paddling a boat is what you do?" I forced myself to shut my mouth before the sight of all that skin made me drool or stumble even more over my words.

"Rowing. Varsity Crew. Whatever. It keeps me in shape for the winter."

"And what happens in winter?"

"I box."

"I hope you're referring to a geometric shape that has four equal sides and four right angles."

"Well at least you're getting to math class in time to learn _something_." He shot me a meaningful look and my mouth dropped open in shock. I made a move to tug my legs away, but one large, sweaty hand landed on my calf and I froze. He didn't even look at me, like his palm on my naked leg was no big deal. It probably wasn't, to him.

"Love the hair angel-face. Makes you look not so angelic." I could see the side of a smile, white teeth flashing. That smile was like drizzling honey on a sticky bun. Delicious.

I pressed my lips tightly together, waiting for him to either get the perverse comment out of the way so I could walk away, or find a point, presuming he had one.

"You know, the showers at Helmsley dorm have five different nozzle settings. I'm usually not so ambitious, but how about we go back and try all five?"

There it was. Rolling my eyes at my own stupidity for even contemplating allowing Jackson Whitlock the time of day, I swung my legs off him, reached down to shove my books into my bag and slung it over my shoulder, trying to pretend his eyes weren't glued to my frame as I bent down. I began to walk away, knowing that it was just too easy after experiencing hell for the past two weeks to have one day where it didn't suck to be me.

I took the stairs to the fifth floor, striding down the hall and ignoring the girls in the hall, who were congregated as usual, gossiping about the happenings of the day. Why were girls always in clusters? Were they so insecure in their own shoes that they had to attach themselves to one another just so you wouldn't be able to identify the individual from the group?

I reached our door and began fumbling for my key, finally giving up and praying Rosalie was in there and the door was unlocked. It was. I pushed the heavy, wood door open and stopped in my tracks.

Emmett was sitting on the sofa in what was technically my room, freshly showered, arms crossed and an annoyed look on his face.

Rosalie was standing in the doorway, now looking at me, but I had a feeling before I walked in she was looking at Emmett with that tight, expressionless look that could only mean she was furious.

I had clearly walked in on something.

Emmett's lit up when they saw me there, though his big arms stayed crossed. "Hey pixie-girl."

I ignored the nickname. "Hi Emmet. Hey Rose."

Rosalie nodded to me.

I shifted my stance, wishing I could tell them to take their tension elsewhere. "So what's up?"

"Getting the details in fine print." Emmett said before Rosalie could open her mouth. "Only Rose here isn't liking what she's hearing." At the name 'Rose' coming from Emmett, Rosalie shot him a 'get fucked and die' glare. I thought about tiptoeing back out of the room.

"You weren't actually asked to be a part of this McCarty."

"But you need me, and besides, last time I checked, this wasn't a dictatorship. We've all got equal say, correct?"

Rosalie's teeth ground audibly.

"Equal say on what?" I asked, wanting to defuse the situation (and Rosalie's temper) as quickly as possible.

"There's a party in Helmsley on Friday. Helmsley is a dorm for senior guys and notorious for throwing the best parties. I happen to have an open invite. We should go. We'll be some of the only sophomores there and it will be a good opportunity to leave no doubts as to what we're doing."

"What we're doing? What _is_ that, exactly?" Rosalie hissed. "Screwing in public? Getting trashed and then stumbling home together? Or stroking your ego in front of your other jock friends?"

"Uh, no screwing in public for me please. That's just rude."

Emmett burst out laughing, but Rosalie just looked annoyed. I let them go back and forth while I contemplated the possible benefits and consequences of an upperclassmen party.

Rosalie was arguing that Emmett only wanted us there to make him look like a player in front of his friends. I could see where that would push her buttons, especially since she seemed to be all about doing the opposite as everyone else. She wanted glory in her own right, not as the chick who was banging Emmett McCarty.

But as Rosalie had also said, you have to give up something to get something. She was the one who suggested it look like some twisted group-sex orgy. Wouldn't she have realized that being a trophy on the arm of a wannabe pimp was one of those things you'd have to allow?

I wondered if Rosalie didn't want to go to the party because she might be tempted to shoot up. I wondered if her "friends" from two weeks prior would be there, if she was unsure she would be able to be in that environment, with people she admittedly hated, and not feel the impulse to alter her state of mind so she could deal with them. I wondered how much Rose was not saying.

But Emmett also had a point. Cafeteria scenes were all well and good, but showing up at a party and leaving together would do a lot to cement in our new status. Was it worth it though? If Rosalie really was so adamant about not going was it worth the argument and subsequent risk? If not going meant she wouldn't have to deal with those people and those circumstances, could I really advocate going just to further our little plan?

" Maybe a party right now isn't such a great idea. We don't even know where we're going with this, what if one of us slips up? I mean, shouldn't we actually sit down and talk about what we're all trying to gain out of this?"

Both Emmett and Rosalie looked disgusted at the notion of having to talk, civilly anyway. I shrugged and grabbed my purse. "I'm going to grab some food."

I didn't get to the elevator before Emmett was behind me. We walked in together. The cluster of girls stared at us. I was learning to ignore them already.

"This is your fault you know."

"What is?"

"I was waiting for you. If you hadn't dawdled doing whatever, Rosalie and I wouldn't have gotten into it."

I rolled my eyes. We got off the elevator and began walking towards the mini grocery store on campus that was in the student activity center.

"Aren't you going to ask why I was waiting for you?" Emmett finally asked, a hint of frustration in his voice.

"Couldn't you just tell me?" I suggested sarcastically with an exaggerated wave of my arm.

"Quit giving me so much lip Alice, I'll start believing you don't like me."

I smiled at his wounded expression. "Why were you waiting for me Emmett?"

"Because I was mad Cullen got the jump on me. Walking you to class, I thought it was practically prehistoric. Very Victorian of him. Cullen's like that sometimes, crazy fucknut. But the man's a genius. Causing a scene right in the middle of the hallway like that? I bow to the master."

I raised an eyebrow. "Wow, sounds like you should probably be waiting for Edward then, not me."

An arm wound its way around my shoulders. "Implying homosexuality. Clever. But my point is, I wish I would have thought of walking you to class and pinning you against the lockers."

"Well, you could, but I don't think people would even be able to see me if you did. Edward's much skinnier, you practically block out the sun from down here."

Emmett laughed and his arm tightened. He was warm, dressed even as he was in shorts and another cut off t-shirt.

"Edward is a skinny bastard. Pale as fuck too. Still, he's a good guy. Can't wait to bend Rosalie over his piano. I hope that while he's up there he knocks that stick loose."

I choked. "Excuse me?"

Emmett looked at me funny. "Cullen. Hale. Doing the horizontal mambo."

"I didn't know Rose liked Edward like that."

Emmett shrugged, looking a bit uncomfortable. "I'm not sure it's about liking one another sweetheart."

I stopped. Just stopped moving, even though Emmett's arm was propelling me forward. He stopped, removed his arm and looked at me. "What?"

"So why bother waiting for me? Walking me to the activity center? If it's just about sex, why not just give me a schedule and I'll know when to bend over?"

He looked a little shell-shocked by my attack and I put my hands on my hips, digging one finger into his chest. "Is that what you were hoping for this afternoon? Why didn't you just use Rose instead since we're obviously interchangeable parts to you? Trophies to stroke your ego? You obviously don't like Rosalie, but you plan on having sex with her, right? Why should I be any different?"

A warm hand clamped over my tiny fist. It pulled my jabbing finger away and placed it at my side. Then I felt two huge hands grip me tightly at the waist and lift me. Literally just lifted me off my feet, until I was eye level with him. I was being manhandled by this caveman! I was tempted to kick him.

"Alice…I got into this because I wanted _you_. You're tiny as hell. You can pretty much verbally kick my ass. You had this look on your face the other night…like you could handle anything, take anything, kick ass at anything. I liked that look. That look is fucking hot. And I wanna know if you still have that look when you're bouncing on my cock, alright? So if that makes me a pig, fine. Verbally rip off my nuts. But I'm not in this for Rosalie fucking Hale or the rights to brag about getting to fuck two hot women. I'm in it for you."

He set me down and stepped back a couple of feet, one hand going to the back of his neck. "I wanted to ask you if you wanted to go to the party on Friday. I wanted to ask you if you wanted to get a little drunk, grind on my shit and let me grope you. And if I can't do that without Rosalie and Edward along for the ride, that's fine. I won't lie to you. I'll take advantage of the situation. I'd gladly get all up in Rosalie Hale if given the chance. I'm a guy. But I wouldn't be voluntarily committing myself for however long this thing lasts to only two pussies if I didn't want something really fucking badly. So think about it."

Think? Oh no, there was no higher brain functions needed. We were going to that party.

Hot. Damn.


	5. Handle Me

"_**Money was never a big motivation for me, except as a way to keep score. The real excitement is playing the game."**_

~Donald Trump

Chapter 5: Handle Me

I was used to breaking rules. I was used to having money and not having to give a damn. I was used to buying or charming my way out of trouble.

I was NOT used to catching someone else breaking the rules, especially not another freshman someone else.

I hadn't even bothered to hide the fact that I was out after curfew, meandering back towards the dorms at the ungodly hour of four in the morning. I would probably skip my first two classes tomorrow, not that I cared much. My grades had a way of mysteriously being changed before report cards were printed anyway.

So when I caught sight of a white-haired girl striding quickly towards the entrance of our fine institution, under the dull light of the winter moon, I literally froze in surprise. There was no doubt whose head I was glimpsing.

I followed her. Call me curious.

In the dark, she didn't even notice me, and I made no effort to hide or silence my footsteps, which crunched under the snow. I had no idea if she knew someone was behind her or not. Anyone with an iota of sense would look around, but not this girl. Not that I expected her to. She was silent as a mouse and without a jacket, a patently vain move as she huddled her arms close to her chest and strode briskly. She was wearing a sweater that was a deep grey that matched the darkness perfectly, but her hair was like the light of a lighthouse to a land-starved sailor. It beckoned to anyone with eyes.

She turned directly left upon entering the school gates, making for Litton Hall, where all the freshman girls resided. I sped up and reached her just as she reached up to pull open the door. My hand reached out over her shoulder, keeping the door shut. She didn't even gasp, which led me to believe she knew someone had been behind her. She stiffed and tugged on the door. I leaned my hand and weight harder against it.

"I suppose you were taking a nice swim in the lake at this time of night." I spoke and she paused, not turning to face me.

"Shouldn't good little boys be tucked in their beds dreaming of glory, fame, and a swimming pool of money?" Her words were dull and very quiet, unusual.

"Insomnia." I shrugged noncommittally, not that she could see it. "What are you hiding Hale? Just get back from a meeting with your latest conquest? Did you read him a bedtime story?"

"I'm not in the mood to exchange insults right now." She attempted to rattle the door again, only to find that I had turned and pinned her to the door.

"Rosalie Hale, not in the mood to castrate someone verbally—shit."

I abruptly caught off my arrogant bantering when Rosalie's face had tipped up. Even in the shadow of the building, in the dead of a winter night, she looked awful. Her lips were swollen and bruised, her hair was tangled and knotted, and perhaps the most damning piece of evidence, she was cradling her arm against her body, wrist swollen and her thumb was sticking out at an angle definitely not within normal human capacity.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

My eyes widened as I took further inventory. Under the loose neckline of her sweater I could see small bruises visible on her neck that looked like violent hickeys. Half of my brain told me to pull off her layers of clothing and see what other damage she was concealing, but the other half warned me that even though she might not be up to verbally sparring with me, Rosalie Hale was more than capable of inflicting damage physically if needed. I opted to end being such an ass and help her into the foyer. She shrugged me off and stared at me as I attempted to follow me into the dorm.

"Go away." She commanded and my jaw dropped. She needed a doctor, not to mention how was she going to change and shower with the use of only one hand?

"Let me help. I can call the hospital and a cab and we can get that looked at and you can tell them what the hell happened." Any semblance of game was gone now. Someone had done this _to_ her. I wanted to kill that fucker.

"Jesus. Don't go all lifetime channel on me. It's nothing I can't handle." And she disappeared into the dark of the hallway, not even the halo of her hair visible without the moon.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I stared at the racks of new clothes, all sized and fitted expressly for me. This is what having a father who is a Senator (formerly a lawyer) and a six-digit credit line will do for you.

There was a killer bronze dress with royal purple sash that would barely cover my legs and make me the center of attention at the lame party the new seniors were throwing at Helmsley tonight. They had even thoughtfully thrown in a pair of purple stilettos, because who owns a pair of those?

Now I do.

Such a dress would be a waste for such a tired affair. I already knew what to expect. Top floor would have a couple of "themed" rooms, supposedly each was different. In reality they would all have one common goal: get the females (who would outnumber the guys almost assuredly) as wasted as possible, turn on some booty grind music so they'd have an excuse to grind all over some poor girl who could barely stand, and then try and coax her back to a dorm room for the sole purpose of sex.

And I had this to look forward to until I was at least in my thirties, or safely married.

Fantastic.

Alice seemed thrilled with the whole idea—she'd been staring at her pathetic little section of her closet ever since she had come back from dinner with that wooly mammoth and not so subtly begged me into saying yes.

Not that the begging had anything to do with my cave-in. It was more about the look on her face when she mentioned Emmett McCarty and then possibility of alcohol.

Alice might as well have had "easy drunk" written on her cute little forehead. She was too tiny and too obviously virginal. The males at St. Olaf's would love to brag about nailing the alligator lady, right before making some bullshit comment about sticking their dicks in "muddy waters."

Assholes.

So I had let her believe she had coaxed me into agreeing and since then, she's been staring in her closet like it holds the answers to the universe.

She wouldn't fit in any of my clothes, not that I offered.

I had texted Edward to give him a heads up. He hadn't responded, but I figured that meant he was in. We'd need all four of us to make the plan work, not mention I'd probably attempt to poison McCarty after our little disagreement.

I didn't have any room to complain; he was doing us a favor. He was a varsity athlete, built, and passably good-looking. He played dumb more than was ever necessary, and he was part of the crowd I was only too ready to go "Heathers" on. He had more inside connections than I did. He was the one who got invited to the jockfest, not me. I had told Alice a little white lie, there was no way I would have gotten an invite to a party like that unless I made it clear I'd be willing to shelf my forked tongue (unless used for blowjob purposes).

Not that I (or we) would get kicked out. Poon is poon after all, and some guys still put money on girls they consider a "challenge." I was probably nearing the top of that list.

I personally think I should get that money once they all fail, but if that was how life worked, we'd all be virgins and sit around on Friday nights bowling or something equally horrifying.

I had expected McCarty to come looking for me. We both knew he wasn't there to see Alice like he was bound to claim later. He wasn't the type of guy that got led around on a leash without jerking the chain a few times to see if the owner was paying attention. He wanted details, and he wanted a say in how things fell out.

He showed up after football practice, dripping wet and still a bit flushed. I glanced out of the corner of my eye and saw my neighbors trying to peer into my room. I pulled him inside and shut the door. Things had gone downhill from there. He had brought up the party and when I had immediately shot him down, he changed tactics.

"So what exactly is this master plan? Cullen didn't seem to know, which was surprising. He doesn't do anything without knowing the exact reason behind it."

I ignored the questions about Edward; it wasn't any of his business how I had managed to get Edward in my pocket without giving him a ten page report on my plan.

"The plan is to team up as a unit, and then take out some of the class act bitches until it's our turn to run the show."

His ability to play dumb led me to believe that would be enough of an intro. He was an intelligent ape apparently, though, and didn't even flinch when I spoke.

"How exactly are we going to do that? Cullen said we were separating ourselves from them, you sound like we're infiltrating their inner circle."

"We've been in the inner circle McCarty. I'm planning on annexing myself from there as soon as possible."

He was staring at me, waiting. I wanted to scowl at him. The silence lasted almost three minutes before I rolled my eyes and continued.

"We've got almost three years left of this hell and I'm already tired of the scripted bullshit that goes on. I'm tired of the bitch fights which always seem to be over some douche bag boy, I'm tired of having to watch out for some guy who is trying to spike my drink, look down my shirt, and shove me down by the hair to suck on his dick. I'm tired of the fake politeness and I'm tired of being so impressed with how much money we all have. I'm tired of feeling like I'm on some bad soap opera because the truth is that if we weren't all doing it, we'd assume we were lame, boring fucks who think being peaceful or happy or sober is the worst thing in the world.

So my plan is simple. We stick together. No crazy, public fighting, no girl drama, no cheating, and all the sex you want and can handle. A built-in, no bullshit support system for all your high school woes. You threaten to pummel anyone who so much as thinks about rubbing me or Alice the wrong way, and I will do whatever kinky shit you want. I'll fuck you on the fifty yard line if that's your thing. And in the meantime, we knock a couple of the maturity-challenged WASPS off their pedestals. We skip out on a few of the parties in favor of our own private shindig, we associate with some people who might not qualify otherwise, we expose a few pertinent details about some of the asshattery that happens at this school, and we refuse to let their bullshit fuck with us. You can knock one person off the social ladder into exile, but four people who have each other's backs? Not going to happen."

I finished my rant and continued pacing the length of Alice's room. There was no way McCarty was getting into my room yet.

"That's warped. Completely illogical. What if they exile _us_?"

This was the reason I wanted Garrett. Garrett couldn't be exiled because he cared nothing for social status. I was willing to destroy mine, Alice didn't have anywhere to go but up, and Edward…Edward was waiting and watching. He always landed on his feet. McCarty enjoyed his status as an athletic star and ladies man, although the latter was only self-proclaimed as far as I could tell. He was destined to be one of those senior guys in Helmsley, trying to score with a drunk freshman chick. He actually had something to lose.

"What's the worst thing they're going to say? We're in some big orgy? You and Edward are gay? Grow a pair McCarty, you'll be banging two chicks seven ways til Sunday. Even if they did attempt to ignore us, they couldn't ignore the spectacle. They'll want to see what we're doing, if we're touching, trying desperately to figure it all out in their pea-brained, over-stylized heads. They might want to ignore us, but they won't."

Finally, I was making some headway. Emmett's head was bobbing up and down in apparent agreement.

"And what about Alice? What does she get from all of this besides a healthy dose of tickle the pickle?"

"You think someone's gonna fuck with Alice with you, me, and Edward around?"

"Eventually they would have ignored her."

"And eventually she would have drowned herself in the lake."

Emmett scoffed. "More like you need someone who doesn't know all about your colorful little history with the in-crowd last year. Someone who will adore how pretty you are and cream herself over getting to be Rosalie Hale's friend. Pathetic. All of this is fucking pathetic. Just a bitch on a power trip, aren't you?"

I crossed the room before I had even thought about it. I wanted to dig my newly manicured nails into his throat and strangle the bastard. I managed to restrain myself.

"Eat me, you fuckwit. Alice isn't a sycophant, which, if I recall correctly, is how you prefer your women. Alice is fucking awesome and if you so much as imply to her that I'm just fucking with her like the rest of them I will end you and that football scholarship you need because your daddy lost all of his money on fast cards, big bets, and even faster women."

Emmett's eyes held mine and I knew he was suddenly furious. His muscles were straining and he was red. I hadn't wanted to play my trump card, but he just wouldn't let things lie. Even Edward trusted me enough not to ask questions. What the hell was wrong with this guy that he had to push me to this extreme?

"Fine. Apparently you and Alice are legit. BFF's or what the fuck ever. But this secretive bullshit has got to go. If we're the group you just told me about, then we each have equal say. This is not 'the Rosalie Hale is getting even with every bitch who ever talked bad about her' club."

"Fine."

"And if you're serious about this, we should go to the party. Get our situation established, maybe get caught in a couple of compromising positions."

I rolled my eyes. "It'll be written off as drunken sluttiness, which is not what we're going for."

"No, sober sluttiness is that much better." And I had to put some distance between us so I didn't rip out his fucking tongue.

And that's when Alice came in.

It was now nine o clock on Friday night. The boys were going to pick us up in forty minutes. Alice had done her hair and makeup, and was once again staring at our closet. I was lying on my back on my bed, feet propped up on the wall, trying to not think of the bronze dress getting beer sloshed all over it.

"I need a job."

"You need clothes, which means you need money. If you were one of us, it would just magically appear on your bank statement every month. A job just means you aren't that lucky."

Alice tossed a pillow at me, seemingly not at all affected by the amount of venom that had been pouring out of my mouth all afternoon. I heard her sigh again and groaned. Loudly.

"Pick something. Anything. Go naked except for two strips of black duct tape over the goods and say you're a "censored" girl on cable TV. Get. Dressed."

That finally drew a chuckle from the tiny girl, and she turned away from the clothes to look at me. "Your still in school uniform."

"I'll get dressed after you get dressed. I've got everything picked out."

"What about your hair and makeup?"

I craned my neck to look upside down at her. "Twenty minutes at most. I've got time. And clothes. And amazingly good genes. You have only one of those three things."

Alice smirked at the backhanded compliment. "The bronze dress?"

"The bronze dress." I felt like I would be going to a funeral.

"You'll be a knockout."

" What I'll be is miserable. Pick something…what about jeans and that pink top?"

"It's collared button up. I can't go in wearing a plaid pink button up shirt next to the bronze dress."

"What would you wear next to The Bronze Dress? Hypothetically?"

A contemplative looked crossed her pixie features. "Black skirt with leggings, and a belted black top with red shoes."

"It's too warm for leggings."

"Fine. No leggings." And then Alice's face went blank and I sat up, momentarily frightened, before her eyes met mine.

She began digging through her closet frantically. "Find me a scissors, would you?"

And fifteen minutes later she had destroyed her floor-length jean skirt (when the hell did she plan on wearing that?) and made a mini skirt. She shimmied into a plain, capped sleeved black t-shirt with a scoop neck and placed a thin black belt with a silver buckle under her breasts.

"Do you have a thicker black belt?"

And even though I never share clothes, I rolled off my bed and found her a two-inch wide belt that had silver holes all around it. I held it up for her inspection.

"Excellent." She didn't loop it through the holes of her skirt, instead she angled it lower on her hips to that it hung lower on one side than the other.

"No yellow shoes?"

Alice shrugged and slipped on some black flats. "Not yet anyway. Now, I believe it's your turn."

This time I sighed and rolled off my bed, shedding my uniform. Alice didn't even blink, just watched my progress as I pulled out the dress and stared at it.

And stared at it.

And stared at it.

"We have maybe fifteen minutes left."

I put the dress back. I almost heard it sigh in relief. "Changed my mind."

And I grabbed my favorite pair of light blue, ripped jeans. I found a flimsy purple peasant tub top and yanked off my bra. I tugged on the loose, flowing and ruffled material and bent down to grab a pair of gold flats.

I flipped my hair over and brushed it before flipping it back and running my fingers through it. I wouldn't even bother with the hot rollers tonight. My makeup was a little eyeliner and some chapstick. I looked in the mirror and I looked like a girl from the beach, resurrected from summers past.

"Here."

Alice thrust something out at me. A brown belt with a gold buckle. I put it around my middle, causing the flowing top to mold more firmly to my body shape. I grinned at her.

"A belt for a belt, huh?"

Alice shrugged. "You looked a little pregnant in that top without it."

I burst out laughing.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I didn't feel nervous as we rode the elevator to the eighth and top floor at Helmsley. There wasn't anyone that would be in attendance that I gave a flying fuck about. He wouldn't be there, so I wouldn't have to worry about a repeat performance of the welcome-back weekend. If I ended up on top of a piano tonight, I was going to be pissed at myself.

The eighth floor was literally shaking with music and laughter. There were probably only fifty people in attendance, a very select number. No freshman boys, and only a handful of freshman girls who were dressed to the nines in a variety of skankified ways. I smirked at them as we passed down the hallway.

Edward was to my right, a beer already in hand. He was wearing a faded band t-shirt from the 70's that declared "Don't' play with yourself—join the St. Olaf marching band!" and low-slung jeans.

Emmett was in the standard frat-boy attire of a button up (blue, of course) and jeans. Spiked hair mandatory, which was a shame because Emmett had curly hair and the spiked look wasn't half as cute as the curls.

Alice was on his arm ahead of me and Edward, looking great. Simple, but sexy. Her little legs were shapely, and that top exposed a lot of her neck and collar bone, which was very subtly hot. She was getting quite a few looks as we made the requisite stop in the first open door. I hoped she noticed.

"McCarty!" A chorus of male voices assaulted us and before I could even blink there was a red plastic cup of beer in my hand. Edward was now double-fisting two bottles of Bass. Emmett had a bottle and a cup.

No one had handed Alice anything.

I grabbed the cup out of Emmett's hand and handed it to her, leading us over to the bed in the room, seeing as how there wasn't anywhere else to sit unless you counted the floor.

"Rosalie, you're looking _hawt_."

"Drake, you're looking wasted, and it's not even ten." Lightweight. "Alice, this is Drake Mienkowitz. His mom makes a living chewing up witnesses in court, particularly those with testicles."

Drake reached out a drunken hand, which Alice took with a mildly disturbed look at me. I shook my head at her.

"You clean up really nice." Drake said with a big smile. Alice choked back a laugh.

"Thanks."

"Hey!" Drake nearly tipped off the bed. "Have you seen the hula room?"

"The what?" Alice asked politely.

"Tradition. The Hawaiian room. You get 'leied' at the door and if you're really freaking desperate, you can do your best hula dancer impression for a room full of drunks. Dollar bills optional."

Alice smiled at me. "What other rooms are there?"

Emmett had broken away from his football cronies. "Why don't we go check them out? Cullen?"

Edward was examining the CD collection of whose ever room this was. "I'm good here."

I shooed Emmett and Alice off and leisurely drank my beer.

Edward changed the music to something slow and completely inappropriate. I smirked as he shoved Drake aside and slid in next to me.

"Having fun yet princess?"

"Tons."

"Need another one?" He indicated my cup.

"Please. Something other than Busch Light please. I still don't understand why we can sneak a keg across campus and up eight flights, but we can't manage to pick a decent beer."

"Bottle of Germany's finest?"

I frowned. "Who smuggled that in?"

"I did." He reached under the bed and pulled out a cooler. I laughed out loud.

"Pre-planning pays off." He told me as he popped off the tops and handed me one. We clinked bottles and watched the people stop in to say hello, exclaim (fakely) over the "original idea" of dressing down and my outfit, and then wander off to find someone to hook up with.

"Come on. Drake's asleep already. Let's leave him to get a good night's sleep." Edward pulled me along and we wandered down the hall, stopping by the flippy cup room, the beer pong room, the circle of death room, the hula room, the poker room (surprise no chicks), the weed room, and at the end of the hall, the rooms from which battling sounds of heavy bass beats were coming.

To the left in dance room A, some generic new hip-hop song about balls and bitches was playing. The benefit of such a room was that this was also the hard liquor room.

"Wanna make some waves?" I muttered to Edward. I was here for a reason after all.

Edward's smile curled upwards and his arm went around my waist. "Can I take point on this one?"

I gestured for him to be my guest. The four beers I had had (the first shitty one not counting) had mellowed my attitude and need to be in control. Slightly.

For the second time tonight, Edward axed the music and there were several minutes of shouting and swearing coming from guys. Edward stood on the desk in the room and raised his hand. He waited until most of the cursing had cut out.

"I have a challenge for anyone brave enough. I'm willing to bet anyone in this room that their girl can't down more blowjob shots in one minute than my girl Rose."

There were a few vulgar comments, and a lot of eyes went my way, but I just stood there, leaning against the wall, sipping my latest beer.

"I've got that shit Cullen. How much?"

I recognized the guy as Bentley Mallard. His girlfriend, Leticia, was notorious for having no absolutely no gag reflex.

"100 a shot?" Edward suggested and I sucked in a deep breath. Did he want to have to drive me to the hospital to get my stomach pumped? Even if it was mostly Kahlua and amaretto, still. Damn.

"Line that shit up." Bent (how appropriate) cleared the floor and the supplies were pulled out. They shoved the desk to the middle of the room. More people wandered in to see the show and Lettie was standing there, sucking on her boyfriend's neck, her hand in one of his front pockets, not even looking concerned. I smiled at Edward, who winked at me and oversaw the creation of the shots.

They lined up ten on each side of the desk.

"The rules are pretty standard. Can't use your hands, and if you spill it doesn't count. Oh, and this." Edward caught the can of whipped cream a junior guy had tossed to him. "Don't forget about the best part."

He sprayed liberal amounts of whipped cream on the top of the shot, making it extremely slippery when trying to swallow.

Boys truly did master the art of the single entendre.

"One minute." Bent repeated and smacked Lettie's ass. I tucked my hair into a high, messy ponytail and waited while my wrists were tied with a school tie behind my back. Lettie's hands were getting the same treatment. Her eyes were now on me.

She leaned in and I reluctantly followed suit.

"What's up with you and Cullen?" She asked with a raised eyebrow. Lettie was a junior and by no means the worst of the worst, but she was a huge sucker for needing to have a boyfriend, which I found to be just pathetically needy. I just smiled as coyly as possible and shrugged.

"Alright. Ready?" I nodded at Edward, as did Lettie.

"3…2…1…go!"

I sucked in a mouthful of whipped cream and then used my teeth to tip the shot toward me. The coffee-taste was mildly disgusting after so much beer, but I had spent the entire summer puking up whatever I managed to eat because I had fucked over my body with poisonous substances. I could handle this.

The second one was easy, as was the third. Thirty seconds must have passed by now, and the fourth one proved to be harder. I tipped it up and went onto the next. Lettie was right there with me.

"Fifteen seconds." Someone called.

I stopped worrying about the whipped cream and just tipped the shot up and moved onto the next. I grimaced and fought the urge to cough. I knew better than that.

"Time!"'

I stepped back and waited to be untied. I had tossed back the seventh shot in the last seconds, the remains of which were still in my mouth. I forced myself to swallow.

Lettie had also been on her seventh, but it had slipped away from her and splashed to the floor. Bent would owe Edward one hundred dollars.

Edward, however, was not interested in the win. My arms were freed and then he was in front of me, grinning a crooked smile that made me grin back, belatedly realizing my entire face was covered in sticky goo. Even my eyelashes felt sticky.

We stood there, looking at each other.

I cracked up, into helpless giggles as I tried to lean into him. He caught me by the shoulders and used one finger to steal some whipped cream from my cheek. He popped it into his mouth and sucked off the melting cream.

"Girl's got skills." He muttered and I realized that that comment was not for my benefit, but for the benefit of our audience, who seemed to be collectively holding their breath.

He bent down and kissed my lips quickly, not even for a full second. When he pulled back, he licked his. "Let's go get you cleaned up and then see how Emmett and Alice are faring. There's a bathroom down the hall."

His hand slipped into my back pocket as a crowd split like the fucking Red Sea in anticipation of our departure.


	6. Thunder

"_**A man can be happy with any woman as long as he does not love her."**_

**Oscar Wilde**

Chapter 6: Thunder

My nose was buried in the soft fabric of Emmett's button-up, but the hard, toned flesh of his chest beckoned beneath the thin layer. He had chosen not to wear a t-shirt beneath his thin shirt, giving me (when I stood on my tip-toes) a wonderful view of his collarbone.

Ensconced as I was now, I could see little of anything. His arm was around me, down my back and toying with the hem of my shirt, his thumb occasionally brushing the base of my spine as I 'hmmed' quietly and burrowed closer.

His other hand was entwined in one of my front belt loops, keeping me pressed against him from thigh to chest. We swayed to a dirty slow grind in the dim light of a few Christmas lights hung from the windows of the otherwise dark dorm room.

My own hands were pressed to his magnificent chest, pressed lightly and feeling his inhale and exhale. He pulled back slightly, eyes dark and yet slightly glazed. "Want something to drink?" He leaned down to ask me over the low bass thump of music.

The two beers I had before dancing with him were wearing off. I nodded and he disappeared from the room, leaving me standing along the requisite desk in every room. I smiled to myself.

"You're Alice Brandon, right?" A petite girl with dark hair asked me as she bumped into the chair next to the desk. I didn't recognize her.

"Uh-huh."

"You're trying to get **in** by fucking Emmett McCarty, right?"

I stiffened. I had been forewarned to expect such comments. I took a deep breath and tried to scoff effectively. It was foreign act, but I was nothing if not capable of acting for this nosy, drunken gossip girl. "I know who he's going home, if that's what you mean."

And then I glided off, out of the room. Suddenly I really did want that drink.

I meandered down to the room towards the elevators where the keg was stashed, seeing glimpses of laughing faces, glazed, droopy eyes, and full on parades of PDA.

The hallway itself was crowded with people talking and drinking, as I squeezed through, getting closer and closer to my destination, I heard a girly giggle and then a throaty moan that was so fake whoever had made the noise certainly had a future in the porn industry. It seemed to be coming from the bathroom.

I tried not to look (why was the door open?) as I passed, but I couldn't help it. Curiosity was always a weakness of mine. I wanted to get a look at the slag who fake moaned like that.

I wasn't prepared to see a gorgeous girl—in a league with sculptures of Aphrodite and Rosalie Hale—to be stretched up on her toes against one of the sinks, enthusiastically making those noises. Her hands were fisted in dirty blonde hair and her teeny-tiny skirt was already bunched up at the tops of her thighs, purely from all the wriggling and writhing she was doing while moaning. I could see her tongue darting out, flicking, into her partner's mouth and those moans had begun all over again. Jesus.

And to be fair, I wasn't being a perv. There was quite a crowd gathered in the doorway, chuckling and occasionally letting out a wolf whistle. I truly think that their audience was the reason behind all the deep-throated moaning, because I could hardly believe the man she was attached to was that awful at kissing that she'd need to make such a racket.

And then I saw two melted chocolate eyes flutter open and freeze on mine.

I stumbled backwards, tripping over large male feet, feeling a few wandering hands groping what wasn't theirs to grope as I tried to get away. Shit. He had seen me. He watched me watch him suck face (how very apt) with that…moaner.

"Hey—Hey angel-face!" His voice was husky and deep, like he was recovering from laryngitis (or having a tongue shoved down his throat), but loud enough for me to hear. Of course I pretended I didn't and continued trying to push past large bodies.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw him literally lift the moaner out of the way as he made his way in just three quick strides to me, easily parting the crowds of horny males, while I had pushed and shoved to no avail.

His hand curved around my elbow and pulled my through the crowd and into the next room, to the catcalls and hoots from the peanut gallery.

"Jax…" I began, but he was too busy death glaring all the other inhabitants of the room (was that weed I smelled?) out into the hall.

"Angel-face, who invited you to this little shindig?"

"Emmett McCarty."

"McCarty? Didn't think he had much in the way of taste."

"Coming from the guy who was just getting his cock sucked via his tonsils by the porn star wannabe in the boys room, I'd say you don't have much room to talk."

Jax's jaw dropped in a comical fashion, before he burst into laughter. Literally bent over with gut-shaking laughter, clutching his stomach, while still clutching me. "Mother fucker, angel-face, do you kiss your mama with that mouth?"

I flushed, but felt happy for once I hadn't just been left to run from him. Him and his perfectly tangled hair and stubble on his chin but nowhere else, and not to mention that wide grin and those Crest-commercial teeth. He had leaned in toward me and I could smell laundry detergent and booze. Oh lord.

"C-can I go now?" I swallowed dryly. I needed a drink. Or a lobotomy. Whichever.

"To find McCarty?"

"Yes."

"Are you two a thing now?"

"A thing? Are we 'a thing'?" I mocked him, happy to be sober while he was clearly wasted and falling all over his lanky body, and therefore almost all over mine.

"A thing. Does he make feel all warm and woozy like you're half drunk and halfway to fucking ecstasy? Does he make you all weak in the knees? Do you think about him touching you in all those special little places girls keep us panting for?"

The hand that had been on my arm had magically reappeared at the hem of my skirt, flicking the material lightly, but never touching the skin of my thighs.

"If he does, that's none of your…business." I swallowed, hard on the last word. "Did you postpone sex with the drunken moaner just to ask me that?"

"No."

I gasped. Loudly. The hand that hadn't been touching me was suddenly clamped hard on the back of one of my thighs, beneath the skirt, right below the curve of my ass, pulling me into his half-flagged erection at the v of his form-fitting jeans.

His eyes were having a hard time focusing on me. "I put off sex with the drunken freshman slut because I saw something I wanted more."

I reached behind myself and pulled his hand off my thigh, immediately letting go of his hand as soon as it was off my person. I began heading for the door, changing my mind and whirling around before I got halfway there.

I walked right up to him, ignoring his gut-wrenching smile of anticipation, and pressed both of my hands on his chest and pushed. Hard.

Jax toppled with a muffled string of swear words, limbs askew on the tiny bed as he bounced once, twice. Satisfied, I stalked toward the door.

I heard him groan in disappointment and hid a smile.

"Aw, angel-face." He whined at me like a particularly petulant five-year-old, and laid still on the disheveled bed. I snorted in amusement and opened the door. "Wait."

I paused, halfway out the door. "What?"

"Just…just come back here. Just come back here and get on top. I swear I'll do all the work. All you have to do is have the ride of your life."

I tried not to blush at the image those words invoked. "There's only one guy who I'll be 'riding' tonight Jax…and I need to go find him."

I heard his frustrated groan as I shut the door on him and went to find Emmett and my god damn drink.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I flipped the eavesdroppers off as I shoved past them. I made it to the other end of the hall in short order, stepping between crowds of people and directly in the paths of others as I pushed by.

The keg was in the first room to the left of the hall. I pushed the door open and was about to take out my residual anger (and sexual frustration) out on Emmett. Wasn't it part of this whole little pact that shit like that didn't happen? That I wouldn't have to worry about getting groped by drunk hornballs?

The Who was playing on low in this room, finally some music I recognized. The smell of beer was also prevalent and I felt bad for whose ever room this was; it would reek of stale beer for weeks.

Emmett was talking with a group of people, laughing and holding two cups of beer in his hands.

My ex-roommate was part of that circle, dressed in a tube dress that covered nothing in either of the northern or southern regions of her body. She was hanging on the arm of one of the guys, but her eyes were now on me.

I swanned right up to the circle and wriggled in next to Emmett, grabbing my cup and taking a rather large gulp.

Silence suddenly reigned as I leaned my head against the side of his arm. Even Emmett had gone quiet, and I wasn't sure that was possible.

"Thirsty?" Emmett smirked at me. My cup was already half-gone. I merely smiled back. "Get tired of dancing?"

Really? Was there no more scintillating conversation in front of group of vultures? I fought the urge to roll my eyes. Boys.

"There was something going on in the room across the hall, you could barely hear the music with all the yelling."

Emmett nodded mutely, and I realized that this was Emmett McCarty the jock, not Emmett, the guy who could verbally best Rosalie in an argument, who could make hacked off hair and grass stains sound appealing. That guy would be asking why I was practically vibrating with nerves. That guy would be distracting me with a dirty quip and a hand somewhere inappropriate, like he did in the cafeteria whenever I got too paranoid about being on exhibit like a unicorn at the zoo.

If I wanted that guy, I needed to get him out of this dorm.

I reached over and took his half-full cup away and set it on the nearby desk. His eyebrows went up, but he didn't say anything.

"Walk me home?"

It was barely after midnight. We were leaving the party early. Hopefully Rosalie didn't freak out when she found out, especially since I had all but laid down the law that we were all going.

"Sure. See around fellas." Emmett smiled cockily to his fellow jockstraps and put a hand low on my back, turning me toward the door. I put down my cup and led the way.

We were halfway to Whitlock before he spoke, both hands in his pockets and nowhere near touching me.

"Something happen while I was getting the drinks?"

Yes! Yes, I wanted to shout. Something happened. You left me to discuss how incredible you are with your other dumbass friends. You were practically preening under the oh-so-admiring glances of sycophant jersey-chasers. You left me alone with the devil himself and I was moments away from either giving into temptation or committing first-degree murder. You apparently can't even hint at any intelligence around your 'friends' and now you're three feet away from me, not even attempting to touch me. Something had definitely happened.

"I don't get it." I said suddenly, stopping right in the middle of the path. The moon was only a quarter full tonight, there wasn't a lot of light and we were between light posts.

Emmett kept walking. "Don't get what?" He was still _that_ guy. I was beginning to really hate it.

"You and Edward. God. You both go out of your way to warn me off—to literally try and intimidate me into backing out! So fucking typical. All talk about your skills and your conquests and your admiring fans. Do I need to be fall-down, sloppy drunk before you'll even try anything? Is that the only way you get any? If the girl is so out of it, she can't remember if you were any good or not? So if she does happen to say it wasn't mind-blowing, well then you have a convenient excuse. She was drunk. She doesn't remember. She's so messed up on booze and whatever high-wattage prescription uppers that were being passed around like smarties in there that anything she says can easily be brushed off."

I shook my head and took a few steps forward, until I was just a foot away from him. He had finally stopped and was scowling at me and my little speech. If he had had fur, it'd be standing on end. I was now dealing with one pissed off bear of a man, but I didn't care because it was better than the other guy, whoever that asshole was that had invaded Emmett's body in front of those ignorant assholes. Cheerleader fucker. Star quarterback. Dumbass jock.

His hands clamped around my wrist like a shackle. It tugged me that last step into his space. He bent down, literally had to bend at the waist until we were eye to eye, his dark, massive face right up in mine and I was suddenly out of breath. No more tirades, no more poking fun, no more complaining. He was furious and he was growling at me, blocking out the moon light a thundercloud. His face was a looming shadow, with the exception of too bright, too feral eyes.

"Baby, you better watch who you're mouthing off at." His breath puffed onto my cheeks as each word rumbled deep from his chest, and then we were in motion, and I was running to keep up with large strides, bypassing Whitlock altogether and not stopping until we had wound around to Washington Hall.

We took the stairs and didn't stop until the third floor. He pushed me ahead of him in the dim, eerily silent hall, and scrambled through his pockets for his key. 303. I stared at the brass numbers on the door until it swung over and I was hauled by the waist into the room.

The door swung shut loudly.

And then I was set down on the bed, on my feet. I was now taller than Emmett, but not by much.

Emmett flicked his desk lamp on, casting a warm yellow glow on our skin. He was still stiffly tense, like he was a statue. I poked at the arm practically made of iron around my waist, the large palm of which was spread and gripping the curve of my ass.

"You like when I mouth off at you." I muttered at him.

He pulled me into him and suddenly his mouth was on mine.

There was no time for closed mouths or even for breaths as his free hand cupped my face and his tongue licked its way right into my mouth. I mewled deep in my throat and opened for him.

No resistance, no pretense of having the upper hand. I dug my hands into the curls at the base of his neck and sucked his bottom lip into my mouth, on fire with the heat he was funneling into me.

His hands were on the back of my knees, moving up, under my skirt, cupping the back of my thighs, a ghost of not even an hour ago and a completely different set of hands, and I gladly wrapped my legs around his waist, instinctively tilting my hips upwards, and he groaned and he reversed our positions and sat on the bed, with me in his lap, a warm, willing, slightly buzzed weight wriggling to get better access to his delicious mouth.

"Fuck." Emmett moaned as I shifted against his erection and that sense of déjà vu threatened to overwhelm me. I'd never so much as imagined a guy's erection, and now twice in one night here I was, rubbing against one, whimpering as he thrust his hips upwards sharply and I was turning into mush against him.

"Fuck me."

It took me a moment to realize that those whiny, moaned words came from _me_. I wasn't any better than that freshman skank, minus the audience.

Emmett groaned loudly and laid back on the bed, with me still straddling his waist. "You don't mean that."

"No I don't. But do it anyway." Shit. What was I saying? I wasn't even drunk and here I was, rubbing up on him and panting like I couldn't catch my breath. "Please."

"Fuuuuck." Emmett's hips were moving with mine, thrusting in time with mine. He pulled me back down to his mouth and his hands cupped my ass, pressing me more firmly against his cock. We writhed like that for an eternity, until I was practically frantic.

I had unbuttoned all of Emmett's buttons and my skirt was now around my waist, my non-belt flapping wildly with each corresponding thrust.

God, this was sloppy. Slutty. But it was too late to stop. I needed something. Something to inflame the sparks. Something.

I trusted him to give me that something, to know what it was that wanted.

"Please fuck me. I want it."

His hips strained into mine, with only the flimsy material of my purple underwear protecting me from full-on contact with his denim-clad cock. I groaned in frustration.

"You don't want me to fuck you. You want something else, don't you? You don't even know."

Emmett's strained voice was attempting arrogance. I huffed at his words and heard his chuckle.

"Is this what you want?"

His thumb settled over the crotch of my wet panties and began rubbing, hard. I cried out, instinctively away from the sensation. He persisted and I rocked both our bodies.

"Fuck." I whined and tilted toward his thumb, feeling the muscles at the base of my back tense and loosen with every circular circuit of his thumb as he rubbed my clit through my underwear.

"That's it baby. This is what you want. Someday you'll ride my cock just like this, but not tonight."

But his hips were still working with mine, rubbing the tent of his jeans into my crotch in time with his thumb.

"Inside---inside me."

I was practically incoherent. I was a nearly crying, whining, desperate mess that had just enough alcohol not to be embarrassed by my begging.

"Tell me." He demanded, pausing his motions for only a second at my words. I heard his breathing increase.

"I want your fingers…in-inside."

"You want to ride my fingers?"

I nodded and hung my head, fighting for breath.

"I want you to come on my fingers baby, can you do that?"

I shook my head as his fingers pushed aside the material and bared me to him. His thumb had stopped. I fought back a sob.

"No?" His index finger was tracing the line of my opening, down and back, slowly, finger becoming just as wet as my panties. I ground down on that finger, but receive no relief.

"Yes."

"Tell me." He repeated with a wide smile.

"I want to come on your fingers. Please."

I was pathetic, but my pride had no place when something loomed so close, so tangibly touchable and yet still out of reach. I wanted to touch it, wanted to experience it, wanted to lose myself in it.

I wanted my first orgasm, and I wanted it to be because of his long, thick fingers inside of me.

Without warning, his middle finger plunged into me and I inhaled sharply at the intrusion. I jerked hard and arched away, but just like before he followed, twisting his finger inside of me and rubbing.

Oh shit.

My back arched into him and leaned over him. I couldn't concentrate on kissing him, so he settled for sucking on the side of my mouth as his finger pushed in as far as it could go, the slight burn making me shift on his hand and demand some relief. His thumb returned and I sank back onto his chest, my hips working with his hand as my fingers dug into his rib cage and I shuddered and begged. Begged for release, begged for god, begged for any number of deities, begged for him.

"You're so tight." Emmett said thickly, into my ear. I shuddered again. "Can I add another finger?"

I had no choice but to nod as I ground myself down on him, straining.

His index finger joined in and I felt even more stretched. It took a few thrusts, but eventually his fingers were working their way into my smoothly and I was burning on top of him, my face once more buried in his chest as I pressed down harder, took him deeper, came so close to the sun.

His thumb was working furiously on me and almost without warning I felt a tidal wave of sensation starting in my spine. I cried out and stiffened, my hips bucking away from his probing fingers as my muscles clenched spasmodically and I threw my head back, completely unaware of any noises or words coming from my mouth.

I was shivering as my muscles loosened and the last spasms of my climax caused the occasional shiver. I was sweating and crying and on sensation overload.

It took me a few minutes to realize that all the shaking was not due entirely to me.

I lifted my head and my eyes widened. Emmett was beneath me, his hips still working against mine, the sensation of my bare clit being rubbed by harsh denim causing a lot of my own shivers, his erection hard and insistent against my center. His chest was heaving as his hands clamped on my hips and he worked me over him. I cried out, still incredibly sensitive, and he stilled. His fingers were pressing into me too hard and I wriggled. Emmett choked out a moan. "Stop."

I stilled. He lifted me forward so that I was straddling his ribcage, and then reached behind me. I heard the telltale sound of a belt being clumsily unbuckled and then a zipper going down.

Emmett exhaled loudly and relaxed ever so slightly.

I couldn't help it; I turned my head and looked. Emmett groaned.

He had shoved down his jeans and boxers just enough to release his cock, which was now resting against his belly, pointing straight up. He was _huge,_ thick and a shiny pearl bead of cum was sliding down his length.

I licked my lips. Emmett swore. "You don't have to…I can take of it."

Was he kidding? Did he think I was scared? I mean, the thought of having him inside of me was terrifying, but he had already assured me that wasn't happening tonight, so what did I have to worry about?

I turned around on him and reached for him.

A large hand deterred me.

"Fuck. You're gonna make me…" I watched in fascination as his cock twitched, just at the thought of my touching him?

Emmett struggled to sit up against his headboard; his knees keeping my legs spread as the stabilized us on the cushy mattress. His arm wove around my waist, pushing my shirt up and out of the way. His mouth was on my neck, nibbling, sucking at my skin. His forehead briefly rested against my shoulder blade before I heard, "Alright. Like this."

He took my hand and together we made a fist around his erection. He took my hand up and down and then used my thumb to rub the tip. I watched in utter rapture as I heard him fight for control behind me. His hand released once we had established a rhythm and I continued on my own.

"Tighter." He muttered and his arm tightened around me as well.

I obliged and heard the response to my effort. "Fuck Alice, just…ahh."

And suddenly I was wrenched out of the way, rolled to his side and almost entirely off the bed as Emmett tensed and made the hottest noise I had ever heard. Like he was agony, if agony was heaven and triple fudge Sundays with extra whipped cream.

I looked over his body, which was wrenching with ecstasy, and watched as three long spurts of pearly liquid sprayed all over his stomach and drizzled down his cock.

When he quiet and lying there, breathing like he had just run a marathon, I nipped along his jaw, feeling proud and brave. He twitched and his hand slipped under my underwear to squeeze one of my ass cheeks firmly. I squeaked and he chuckled, the sound warm and blissed out.

He moved me to the inside half of the bed and waited until I was just about unconscious before he got up to clean himself off.

Then he flopped down on his stomach and fell asleep, taking up way more than half of the bed, one hand resting at the curve of my ass.

I fought back a giggle.

Boys.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I had only stayed for a couple of hours. I had been forced to avoid doing the walk of shame and in, around 3:45 in the morning, I walked back to Whitlock. I let myself in and quietly slipped into my room and practically dove into my bed and into dreams of that magical place I hadn't ever visited before tonight.

When I woke up, it took me a moment to realize what had woken me up.

Rosalie was standing there, in a pair of jogging pants and sports bra, sweating hard. She had banged the door shut.

And she looked furious.

I looked at the clock. 9:15. Usually Rose didn't get up until noon.

She was stalking toward the bathroom, presumably for a shower. I lifted my head, kicking away my blankets and yawned.

"You ok Rose? What happened last night?"

The only answer I got was a glare and the bathroom door shutting in my face.


	7. Deviations

It is the wretchedness of being rich that you have to live with rich people.

Logan Pearsall Smith

Chapter 7: Deviations

"Did you hear at the party…Emmett McCarty…NO! I'm serious! She asked him. What a…"

"Shh! Mrs. Traftan's on her way over here!"

There was a long period of silence as the grey-math teacher wandered over to check on the two girls' work. As her plaid, floor length skirt shushed away, the conversation resumed.

"Jesus I hate that dried up old cunt. I'd give anything to have Alg I all over again."

"You were so lucky. He is like…oh my god so fine."

"I'd hop on that _any_ day of the week. And twice on Sundays."

The girls began snickering until Mrs. Traftan called their names and they were forced to slave away proofing their geometric figure once more.

"Such a bitch."

"_Such_ a bitch." The other parroted.

I sighed.

Loudly.

The other girls turned in unison and their eyes got wide before they turned back and began whispering even more quietly than before, a note of embarrassed hysteria entering their already doglike squeals.

I had finished the math problem, hence my eavesdropping, not that the two girls in front of me were being very subtle.

"Rosalie Hale…over Edward Cullen…like _that's_ a tough choice."

And therein laid my dilemma.

Despite my exit with Emmett on Friday, the entire school was currently buzzing about Rosalie and I fighting over Edward.

Not that I would know what we were fighting about, Rosalie had all but ignored me (and everyone else on the face of the planet) since Saturday morning. She had even skipped our group lunch today, which was awful. There I was, sitting between two guys, one of whom was seemingly oblivious to everything except his latest piano creation, the other of whom I had had some form of sex with and not talked to since.

What did hand jobs qualify as? Partial sex? Groping? It wasn't oral and it wasn't actual sex…what was it? And what did it do to how we interacted in public?

I swear I saw him lick his index finger several times during lunch. It's only too bad we weren't having anything phallic for lunch.

So I had sat there, twitching whenever either guy put their hand on my knee and spilling my iced tea everywhere. I felt like such a first-grader, not even able to handle sex. Or whatever you called it.

At one point both of their hands were on my knees and I started tapping out the theme to 42nd Street on my toes until both gave me weird looks and removed their mitts.

I was about ready to explode and the only person in the entire world that I could talk to was currently pretending I was a gnat at her picnic.

So I listened to the gossip and tried to figure out what exactly had happened at that party while I was begging Emmett to do me.

Oh god. I wanted to die every time I thought about it.

Not that I regretted it. Hell no. Just…I wasn't prepared. I didn't know what to expect, and I always know what to expect . But ever since I came to this freaking school, it's like all my common sense and perceptions of "the real world" have been atom-bombed. Hiroshima had an easier time picking up the pieces than I did.

So far, I had observed many males attempting to holler at Rose, or put an arm around her, only to be given the pouty Look of Death. It was interesting that even furious, Rosalie still looked like she was pouting or doing something that was innately sexy. Her lips were just too full to ever come across as pissed. So she was sending half "I'm going to pluck out every pubic hair on your body one-by-one" and half "my lips would look great around your cock" looks. Half the school had a hard-on, girls included.

And speaking of blowjobs, I had heard of the shot competition. A lot of sick males were talking about how good Rose looked with "whipped cream" on her face. I held back the urge to punch them in the junk. I'm little and pretty fast, they wouldn't even see me until it was too late and impossible to have children. A run and junk.

It was what happened after the shots that I couldn't figure out. Everyone was talking about it, but no one seemed to know what happened next.

And Rosalie wasn't talking.

Which left Edward.

Edward was still a huge question mark for me. He was always smiling at me like I was his cute sister or something, always tugging at my spiky hair and putting himself in close proximity to me. But conversation was nonexistent and he was just…there. Charming and clever and entirely too good to be real.

I didn't know how to talk to him, and I certainly didn't know what to do if he attempted anything physical. Yeah, he could make a Michelangelo sculpture cry, but who wanted to have sex with someone who was so perfect it was literally painful to be around them?

Maybe that's why Edward liked Rosalie. Physically she was as close to ideally perfect as you got.

The bell rang and sixth period mercifully ended. Two more periods to endure and then another Monday would be over.

And I'd have to talk to Edward if I ever wanted to tell Rosalie about my sexual awakening.

Ok, so maybe I wanted to brag a little, but who doesn't? I had (nearly) bedded a gorgeous, muscular guy who lost it the moment I touched him. If that doesn't scream sexual goddess, I don't know what does. Couldn't my one friend (was she a friend?) at least be there to be happy for me, if not give me some tips so I don't go around begging everyone on campus for sex next time I get horny?

I had political geography with Rosalie 7th hour, and I slid in my seat next to her just as the bell rang. I said hello and got back a blank stare.

Five minutes into class I was already in a boredom stupor, when the door opened and in sailed Emmett with a wide grin, directed at me. I smiled back and watched him hand the teacher a note. Mr. Cory made a disgruntled noise and motioned to the few empty desks in the room.

Emmett took one from the front row, picked it up, and set it down in between Rosalie and my desks.

In the last row.

Mr. Cory (and the entire class) watched this with interest. Mr. Cory's eyes narrowed. Emmett motioned for him to continue with his notes. There were a few not-so-stifled giggles as Mr. Cory did just that.

"What are you doing?" Clearly I would have to be the one to ask since the tin-woman over there hadn't spoken to anyone in three days.

"Joining the class. I had study hall this hour, but I already had two study halls besides this one if you count art and so Edward checked the files and you two are both in here."

Rosalie's lips tightened, pushing the bottom one out even further. Even Emmett was watching those lips like a starving man.

I cleared my throat and he looked at me expectantly. "It's past the date to register for new courses."

Shrug. "Edward doesn't do well with dates…or constrictions and limitations of any kind really."

Figures.

"Mr. Cory could protest it."

"Mr. Cory is the defensive coach for the football team and I'm his center blocker. I could bend you over this desk right now and he'd swear before the Supreme Court you were begging me for it if it means we go to state this year."

Rosalie's hand sailed into the back of Emmett's ridiculously hard noggin with surprising speed, causing Emmett to say a very dirty word very loudly. Several people looked our way.

Rosalie went back to studying the doodles on her notebook page.

"What the hell is wrong with you Rose? Cullen not take advantage of the boy's room facilities?"

My jaw dropped open. Jesus, what was with the bathroom and people wanting to have sex in there? Teenage boys _pooped_ in there for Pete sakes!

Rosalie's face had gone feral and ugly. She snapped her notebook shut and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind her so hard that it rattled for a couple of seconds after impact. The entire class watched her leave. Even Mr. Cory's jaw was dropped open.

Rosalie Hale had one a brassy set of balls on her. I bet she didn't even get in trouble for doing that.

"You _know_ what happened?" I hissed, kicking Emmett under our desks.

"I know Cullen dragged her off to the bathroom and things deteriorated from there."

"Did they…"

"Dunno. Cullen isn't one to fuck and tell."

Well, that was at least good to know. "We aren't exactly following The Plan."

"Fuck the plan. Just fuck me instead."

"Maybe Edward will take care of that for you too." I muttered, flushing deep red.

"Kidding. Lighten up Alice. I'm just saying, if you see an opportunity, take it. Don't wait for Rosalie fucking Hale to deign to talk to you and give you permission."

!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!*!**!*!*

I saw an opportunity in 8th period science class.

Or I should say, I saw an opportunity as I was getting rescued from my 8th period science class.

Edward appeared with a note and my teacher waved me out of the room, telling me to go to the office. Edward was waiting outside the door with his hair falling over one eye, tie loosened, looking for the world like he had been recently and well fucked.

Maybe he had been. That would be one way to remove the stick lodged up Rosalie's ass.

"What are doing?" I asked for the second time in under two hours as we wandered down the hallway.

"Mr. Banner is showing a film on bacteria today. I figured you could use a reprieve from wriggling one-celled boredom."

And I could, so I didn't complain. Presumably, even if they marked me unexcused, Edward could get into the system and change it.

As we were just about to the doors I caught sight of Lauren and Jessica, the two hen-like girls from geometry class. They were in study hall, looking bored and passing notes. I saw Jessica look up and her eyes get wide and she desperately tried to get Lauren's attention.

"Edward, stop." I said, my breathing picking up.

"You're interested in joining the audio visual club?" Edward mistook my excitement for the poster that was hanging on the wall outside of the classroom. "That's a bit like cutting your wrists and then wearing short sleeves for the rest of the year, isn't it?"

I cracked a smile. "That was entirely un-PC."

"Fuck PC, why are we standing here, waiting to get caught by Dr. Rhezik?"

"I…" The words wouldn't come. And my mama always told me actions speak louder than words so…

I launched myself at Edward Cullen.

Who caught me very gracefully, by the collar of my blazer as I reached up to my tippy toes and kissed him.

He tasted a little like the pot roast that had been served from lunch.

I felt his feet spread wider to sink down to meet me and one of his hands go straight into my perfectly done hair.

I didn't let it last, much as I wanted to. The southern belle in me felt a little faint. And there hadn't even been tongues.

I was still on my toes, even though the kiss was over. Edward was staring at me from beneath his floppy hair, long black lashes shading deeper green eyes. He was doing that intense eye-fucking thing that made me want to confess my deep-down naughtiest secrets. Either that or poke him in the eye.

One or the other.

He stepped away, ran a hand through those destroyed bronze locks, and smirked as I sank back down onto my feet belatedly, not even realizing I was teetering precariously on my tiptoes.

He glanced into the classroom, where at least half a dozen people were gaping at us, and smirked.

There was a trace of my shimmery lip gloss on his lips. I hid a smile. I wasn't about to tell him. He looked disturbingly good in shimmers.

"Shall we?" He murmured and took my hand. I raised my eyebrow at him and he shrugged.

"I didn't know southern girls were so forward."

"I didn't know eastern boys were so slow on the uptake."

"Jessica Stanley had a little puddle of drool on her desk."

"Lauren Mallory probably creamed herself."

"And what about you? Was there…creaming of any sorts happening for you?"

"If I say yes, are you going to pin me up against a locker again?"

He chuckled and pulled me closer so he could wrap an arm around me as we exited the building.

"Where are we going?"

"The music hall. I have to get back to my composition."

"Could you compose a little sonata about what happened between you and Rosalie on Friday night? Was she not receptive to the piano idea? Because she might be a bit sensitive about being asked to lie down on a piano…bad memories I think."

Edward had paused, his brows furrowing together. "What on earth are you talking about? Piano? Memories?"

Oops. I think I was still a bit dizzy from that kiss.

"Never mind. Something Emmett told me…what happened?"

"I gave Rosalie my terms for her sick little plan on becoming a reverse stereotype queen bee. She didn't like it."

"But you two didn't…"

"Didn't…"

"Do it."

"Do what?"

"Don't make me say it."

He was quiet until we reached the third floor of Eliza Kelley and he unlocked the door that I had stumbled through on my first day at St. Olaf's. I almost cringed in memory, like the ghost of a strung-out Rosalie would be there.

He sat on the bench and placed his fingers on the keys, but didn't press. There was no sound except for the occasional inhale or exhale of musty air.

"I think I'd like to hear you say the word 'cock'."

I choked. "What?"

"You have this hint of a twang, already fading because you like to mimic Rosalie. But your vowels are still a little drawn out, like they get stuck in your mouth and can't find their way out very quickly. So you get this lilting twang."

"So?"

"So, I think hearing you ask me if my cock got anywhere close to Rosalie Hale's much-worshipped cunt would supply me with beating off material for days, if not weeks."

There might be a pool of drool coming from _my_ mouth now.

He—Edward Cullen—wanted to masturbate to me and my little southern twang? I was stunned stupid, silly, and unfortunately speechless.

"Come on, for me? It's just like playing the penis game, except that there's no one around to embarrass and I don't want you to blurt it out, I want you to say it soft and slow, make the word with your lips."

"Here's a word for you. Pervert."

Edward smiled at my panicked retort and motioned for me to step closer. I did so warily, stepping in between his knees, taller than he was sitting down. I got to see those tousled strands up close and personal, and I was just dying to yank on them.

Yank on them? I shook my mental head, not realizing I was also shaking my physical one.

"Lots of thoughts…" It was a question or an invitation. I wasn't sure which. "Surely one word can't create that much mental chaos."

One little word my…

"Do you know why I want to hear you say it?" Edward asked, his nose trailing along my neck, fingers loosening my tie. His words against my skin gave me goose bumps. I shook my head, not that he could see it. "When Emmett and I…talked for lack of a better word, about this whole arrangement, the first time it almost came to blows."

"Liar."

"Well, maybe the violence was purely based on a game of Halo, but still. It was tense. So we came up with a compromise. About you."

"Me."

"And Rosalie. But there was one thing we couldn't work out, because we both wanted it. So we resolved it the only way too adolescent men know how."

"You had a spitting contest?"

"We flipped a coin. Emmett won." He pressed a light kiss under my chin, tilting my head back to the ceiling.

Our knees were rubbing against one another.

"What did Emmett win?"

"Dibs. On you. You, of course, get to say when and where and how, but I conceded that he won fair and square. He'll be the first guy you ever have inside of you." His motions stopped and he pulled away to look at me, pupils big and dark as he narrowed in on me. "Now, when I lay back and think about you, Alice Brandon, I don't generally include Emmett McCarty as the guy who's making you beg. So, in the way of making such a tragedy up to me, will you do me one, small favor and tell me that someday, maybe in the near future, you'll be waiting to be with me, wanting to scream and come for me, wanting to beg _me_ to take you in my arms, to pull you onto my body, to make you come on _my_ cock. Can you do that for me Alice?"

So I did.

Not as eloquently, in that sex-operator smooth voice or in the same, lust-crazy tones, but I did and he groaned and sent me on my way before I attacked him and his Miami-Vice hair.

It wasn't until I was in the elevator back in Whitlock that I realized he had avoided answering any and all of my questions.

~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~

Rosalie was dressed in a pair of gym shorts and a sports bra when I got into the room. She didn't even look up.

"You need to leave." Her brisk tones were business-like, leaving no room for disagreement.

So naturally I disagreed, throwing my stuff on the couch and then lounging on my bed like I had all the time in the world.

"It's my room too. I can't help that it isn't big enough when your bitchy attitude takes up so much space."

Rosalie looked up in surprise. "What?"

"You. The silent treatment since the party. Ringing any bells Rose?"

"Well, I…I was upset."

"You were upset? You nearly shook down a door in 7th hour today." Her expression didn't leave me doubting she was about to do the same with the door between our rooms. I didn't give her a chance. "So what happened? Did Edward invite an audience to watch you too get it on in the bathroom? Did you accidentally fall into a sink or something? Did he scuff your $500 dollar shoes while you were pinned against the tiled walls in between the hand dryers?"

One of those expensive, impossibly high-heeled shoes went flying a few feet to me left and knocked over my desk lamp, creating a cacophony of awful noise.

"No dammit! He did **not** fuck me in the bathroom. He didn't bump me against the wall or even ask me to blow him in one of the stalls! He groped my boobs, hitched one of my legs around him, ground his fucking _beautiful_ cock right on me, and then fucking told me that if he was going to be in, he wants to see me and his trailer-trash, dyke-wannabe, emo-tastic public school whore messing around before he decides I'm good enough to get on his dick."

The matching Dior heel joined its mate after a bruising impact with the wall.

Rosalie was breathing heavily, shoulders going up and down as she tried to reign in her temper. I could see her counting to ten.

That worked until about seven and then another shoe, a purse, and two textbooks went flying.

Next were her picture frames.

The sound of shattering glass awoke from my coma of stupid shock.

"Hey!" I cried and wrestled the next frame away, grabbing her arms. "Calm the hell down, will you?"

"Are you fucking kidding? Calm down? Calm DOWN? He's doing this because he wants me to feel like I'm some sick bitch who isn't good enough to get down on my knees and…and OH!"

The frame I thought I had saved from demolition was now sand.

"Just like fucking Edward…has to break the fucking rules. Has to sniff out the filthiest piece of money-hungry trash in the bunch and fuck her, just to see if he gets fleas or not. Has to prove something to me by making me swallow my damn pride and do something….something so-so degrading! Girl-on-girl, how fucking cliché is that shit?"

"I don't know, are you objecting because you're freaked about naked girly touching, because you think Edward is doing this because he gets off you humiliating you, or because your ego is bruised that he needs two girls to get off, when you clearly should be enough?"

A pillow hit me in the ribcage with enough force to send me staggering. Girl could have pitched for the Yankees.

"D, all of the above?" I guessed. Rosalie ignored me. "You can say no, Rose. He's technically breaking the rules. If we say yes to this, then Emmett will want to be dragging in whatever chick latches on and fawns her way into his pants. We have every right to tell him to fuck off."

"He won't ask you to do it. Hell, if he wanted it to be you and me…I don't think I'd have a problem. But he just has to go pushing his fricking gutter friends on us because he thinks I'm stuck up and all elitist about having money and whatever. Fine. Fuck him. I'll do it and I'll pretend to like it, just to shut him the fuck up. I can stick to my end of the bargain, we'll see if he can stick to his. Next week we're working on taking down Tanya Denali, and I'm going to need his particular expertise."

And with that, Rosalie marched over to the pile of broken and bruised possessions and began cleaning.

I was about to protest why I hadn't heard anything about taking down the student body president(!!!) when she looked up at me and I shit-you-not, _tsked_ at me like I was some wayward child.

"But you really need to leave Alice. Hurry up."

"What? I just talked you down from destroying the better half of a $10,000 plus shoe collection and you still want to be alone so you can pout about how unfair it is that you get to have sex with Edward Cullen?"

Rosalie stared at me blankly.

"No, I need you to get out because Emmett's coming over here to fuck me."


	8. Point Blank

_**"Someday I want to be rich. Some people get so rich they lose all respect for humanity. That's how rich I want to be."**_

~Rita Rudner

Chapter 8: Point Blank

In theory, I might as well be a wind-up sex toy. Put in the key, wind me up, and let me go and ding, dong, ding. Repeat as needed. Sex in a punctual, easy manner.

It's better than a blow-up doll anyway.

However, in reality, if you wanted to fuck me, you had better be wearing a crash helmet.

I was NOT a fan of missionary, nor was I fan of holding my legs at awkward angles and reciting my multiplication tables up through the thirteen's ( or the three's, depending on the guy's stamina) while waiting for him to finish thrusting like a lout into me.

I did my Pilates, and I ran my miles. My dad had been in the National Guard, I could do a push-up; not the girly ones on my knees either.

And speaking of knees, it's my personal opinion that it's a complete worthless endeavor for a sixteen-year-old boy to receive a blowjob.

Why do you ask?

Because they don't appreciate it, and it doesn't last. And once the guy has blown his load all over your face and is embarrassed, he's done for the night.

No poke-poke for the poor bitch who nearly choke-choked.

So when I started little charade of mine, I knew I was going to have to be very clear on what I expected from this bargain.

A hip-replacement wasn't it.

Before Edward had made his outrageous demand (fuck nugget extraordinaire) for a little girl on guy with tuna on the side (do you get it?) I had already decided Emmett would be an easier first conquest.

Before I found out Edward wanted me to take him down to the local Maco's Taco's, I had been inwardly crinkling my nose at the thought of having to sleep with Edward.

It was weird.

It's weird, right? You know somebody when they're in diapers, you spend time at their house during the annual 4th of July barbeque, you've seen them lose all their teeth and come to school with gap-toothed smiles and crisp ten dollar bill from the tooth fairy.

I did not need to add 'what Edward's penis looks like' to our little list of memories.

So Emmett it was, and Emmett was in for a surprise.

I set the date, set the time, and set the location. Home court advantage and all that jazz.

I surveyed my room and rolled my eyes, closing the door to my room and flopping down on Alice's bed.

Emmett McCarty definitely wasn't worth the mammoth effort it would take to unearth my bed, much less a pathway to it.

And what Alice didn't know, wouldn't hurt her.

I laid back and winced when I laid on something with a mildly uncomfortable edge.

I reached behind me and pulled out a yellowing copy of _Paradise Lost_. Alice wasn't much of a reader, but I did know she had a list of "must reads" before college.

Presumably this was one of them.

It was an intimidating looking book; the kind I would take along to the doctor's office if my doctor was hot, or when my father wanted to make a family appearance for some event.

What was that old saying by Twain? "A classic is something everyone wants to have read, but no one wants to read."

I raised an eyebrow at the book and looked down at my slightly wrinkled school uniform.

It's not there was anything even remotely attractive about having some clumsy frat-fucker tearing buttons.

So I got naked. Naked and on the tiny, little camp bed in the sitting room, sprawled out and reading a thick, impressive novel like I hadn't told Emmett I wanted to be on his cock two hours earlier.

The knock came, heavy and expectant at quarter to six.

"It's open."

Emmett didn't let the door swing open widely, he knew that if I didn't answer the door (like I had been raised to), then something was up.

Or about to be up, as he stared at me.

He stared and I raised an eyebrow at him, so comically standing there, jaw open, waiting to catch flies.

"What do you want?" He finally closed his mouth and attempted to sound cool.

He wound up sounding petulant that I wasn't allowing him to be the man and lead this little appointment.

"That, dumbass, should be patently obvious."

"But-"

"Stop talking. I can assure you I don't want to hear it. The only things I want to hear out of your mouth are 'fuck yes' and my name."

Let it never be said that Rosalie Hale did not live up to every egotistical, daddy's girl with a credit card, bad stereotype there was. It was a rough job to be this arrogant and domineering.

I tossed the book aside and stretched my arms above my head, back arching, and two perfectly tweaked tits (because let's be serious-it wasn't cold in that room, which meant I pinched them just for show) arched as well as I exhaled and sat up on my knees.

From there, things deteriorated rapidly.

Well, for Emmett's pride that is.

During my little experimentation with heroin (before I was so into it that I screwed my dealer because it generally resulted in the best stuff on the market) I had developed a pattern for sex.

If they wanted it, too bad for them. I was too good to be under them, much less doing my best "Debbie does Dallas" impression. I walked, no matter how much they fawned and adored and begged.

Even when I was high off my ass, I still had my pride.

But every once in a while I'd take a liking to a guy. And if I wanted them, I wanted to know, no chances taken, that I was going to get mine.

Those boys had all been more than content to let me do whatever the hell I wanted while they got their rocks off. It was all a matter of knowing how the system works when you're in your early teens. The probability of getting an orgasm was beyond low. It was practically nonexistent. And let's be clear; I wanted a fucking orgasm. I knew it, they knew it; it was just easier for the boy to pretend he was actually contributing more than a hard cock into the equation.

There was no skill involved at all; all the skill was mine.

I always like to think it's a rather ironic role-reversal of the standard "men do all the work while women lie on their backs" mentality.

Here's the truth, no bullshit.

It's hard to get off without a vibrating something or other. When someone's bouncing you around on their cock, fingers sometimes won't even do the trick.

Getting yourself off on a teenage dick might as well be like running the four minute mile.

Only a certain number of people had the skill.

It's a whole 'nother ballgame for the guy I happen to be fucking. While my mind is on overload, conjuring up every movie star face and fantasy in a bid to finish before the guy comes, he's got one single thought floating around his testosterone poisoned head.

Thrust harder, deeper, faster, and come like one blissed out motherfucker.

Emmett McCarty is a male, and thus he suffers from this same affliction. He couldn't coordinate his thumb to find my clit if his life depended on it while he's inside, much less worry about a "myth" women like to call the G-spot.

One hundred percent of teenaged boys will find Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny smoking joints in a titty bar before they'll find a G-spot.

And because I've witnessed this male display of tunnel dick vision, I am spectacularly disinterested in foreplay. At least, the kind of foreplay that has him stuffing me like a Christmas goose without any prep.

I indulge in my favorite fantasy with my clit bullet massager beforehand, and make plans to hop on pop just as soon as I can get him naked.

In Emmett's case, this takes less than three minutes. Sport shorts and boxer briefs, easy.

Loose but alarmingly huge t-shirt.

Gone.

His smelly shoes and socks took the longest, and that's probably because I made him take them off.

I shove him on the small bed, wait for a second to see if it will collapse under his weight, and then settle astride him and tug on him until he's hard.

Condom it, and then I'm on him and riding him like a bronco.

My own personal goal is under five minutes.

I'd be fucking ecstatic if it happened under two.

But then the meathead does something nobody else ever does successfully.

He attempts to take control, trying to roll me over so I'm on my back.

This is the part when short nails make an excellent steering mechanism. I put my foot down on the bed and refuse to be rolled. Granted, he could probably squash my or pop my spleen, but I'm not budging. I look great on top.

And I don't let up either. I start squeezing him for all he's worth, slamming my hips onto him every time he thrusts, and I can't help the grin that spreads over my face when he let's out a a grunt that sounds suspiciously like "fuck yes."

I'm sure the thought of being fucked by a girl is unbearable to his macho-self.

And then suddenly I'm under him on the fucking floor, because apparently Emmett McCarty is just too stupid to lie back and enjoy the fucking.

I shriek some naughty words and slap at him until he rolls off of me, not even caring that he's swearing like a sailor as the head of his dick get lubed up even more by my wet cunt.

I finally get us situated once more and this time I'm pissed.

What a fucking idiot.

Most guys wouldn't be fighting me.

Most guys wouldn't be able to look their mother's in the eye after I got done with them.

I roll my hips, arching sharply when he's as deep as he can go, bouncing a little, trying to get him where I want him.

Penises need to be more like the vibrators that move in circles.

Why didn't God think of that?

Emmett's finally given up the good fight of trying to top me (ha). He's biting a hole through his lip as he struggles not to come before I do.

Thank you. I appreciated it. You probably don't know how much.

And then I'm arching and inhaling sharply, her nails digging into his pecs for all I'm worth if I don't want to arch myself right off his dick. I come and Emmett doesn't last five seconds.

He lets out an unholy, mildly terrifying groan of release and I worry he'll flood the condom.

Hey-oh, now there's something no one on this planet needs to see.

Rosalie Hale, teenaged mother.

Even I'd feel bad for that kid.

I roll off immediately. Surprisingly, I'm a little bit shaky on my legs, the sure sign of a decent orgasm.

Good for me.

I bend over at the waist on purpose, pick Alice's book off the floor, and disappear into my room, shutting the door with a soft but definite click.

I leave Emmett there, shorts around his fucking ankles like the stupid-fucker he is, and trust that he'll be out in another few minutes, a little bit shaky in the knees himself.

I toss aside Alice's copy of Paradise Lost and shrugged into my robe, sliding onto my bed and clicking open the browser on my laptop.

The page was still up and I began taking notes furiously as I carefully studied the pictures and corresponding text on the website. I tilted my head and tried to ignore the thrumming I felt in my veins. I'd been staring at this since I ditched seventh hour, and combined with the recent sex-acrobatics McCarty felt the need to pull while attempting (not well I might add) to prove his male dominance, I was feeling a bit dizzy from the overabundance of sex.

I shook myself out of that little memory and focused on the webpage in front of me.

One down, one to go.

And make no mistake; I was going to be the best goddamn dyke Edward Cullen had ever seen.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Alice...fuck! I didn't even remember her last name. Alice whoever the hell she is, will be the death of me."

My head snapped around as Jackson Whitlock, slut of the senior class himself, plopped his very fine ass down at my library table.

"What the fuck are you doing in the library anyway Hale? And in the basement, I might add?"

Both valid questions. My reputation was balanced on a complete non-geek appeal, and so the time I spent doing my homework (and believe me I did it) was done secretly, on the dingy lower levels of the library where the archives were. Thus, I got good grades per my father's expectations, and no one was usually ever any the wiser.

"I could ask you that same question Whitlock. There aren't old copies of Playboy or National Geographic down here if you're looking for nudie pics."

Jax merely smiled that honey-pot smile of his. He was such a fucking hot bitch. Too bad he's one of the few guys my sexual routine wouldn't work on.

The man had control issues.

"She digs me. I can see it. Her little virgin eyes and fuck! Those lips—she fucking has _cock-sucking_ lips and they are nowhere near my cock. What the shit Hale? Were you spreading some nasty shit about me or something? What's the deal?"

I looked up from my math book.

"She's not available, that's what's up. And as for me spreading rumors, I don't need to. You've burnt the toast off of so many girls' crust that I'm surprised no one's hauled off and kicked you in the junk yet."

This had no apparent effect on Jax. He toyed with his sleeves rolling them up and down those toned forearms, and cracked his knuckles.

"McCarty's cool, but admit it Hale. He's certainly not the better choice between the two of us. No offense, I've been hearing all over the place that you're _both_ on McCarty and Cullen's cocks. Goddamn, that's hot. I'm down with the mix and match option."

I stood up.

"Ok-ay. And now you're officially a stalker pervert. See ya."

He caught the hem of my skirt and got a good look up it as he turned me back around.

His apologetic grin was spiced with a little lust this time around.

"Niiice Hale. Look, I know I'm an ass, but I've never been an ass to you. That should count for something."

I rolled my eyes and waited.

"Tell her…tell her I'm a nice guy."

"You aren't."

"I am. I'm not a particularly monogamous or moral guy, but I am nice."

"Jax, go fuck a freshman if you're so wound up. Leave Alice alone. She's not going to cave. Why are you beating your dick to death over one girl who's not available to you?"

And to be honest, I wanted an answer.

Jax was rejected and screamed at quite often. Older women, mothes, wives, students, he hit on them equally. He was an equal opportunity slut when it came to getting some. So naturally he got balled out a lot for being so…outgoing.

It had never phased him before.

Never caused a reaction like this.

Jackson Whitlock was sitting in the basement of the library, asking me to help him so he could have sex with my friend, before presumably cheating on her with the Japanese girl who took the carry-out orders at the House of China.

What the hell was so special about Alice?

"I want to see how much she can take…. fuck! It's hot because she's a little fighter. Not a ball-buster or a pistol like you Rosie, but she's all tiny and smart-mouthed…. ugh that mouth. How much can that little throat take? How much dick she can sit on, how much solid headboard banging can she take? I need to know."

I stared, my nose turned up.

"You. Are a Sick. Puppy. Jackson Whitlock."

"Come on Hale! So, I have a thing for tiny chicks. You can toss them around, bend them over, your cock looked twice as big enclosed in tiny little hands. Tiny chicks are made for some seriously kinky shit. If I wanted to wrestle while I was trying to have sex, I'd either go out for the sport or tap the infield of the girls' softball team."

Further proof for why Jax and I never had sex.

"Come on Hale. Tell her what she's missing."

"I will. I will tell her exactly what's she missing." I held my thumb and my forefinger out, a bare inch apart. Smiling smugly, I grabbed my calc book and sashayed away.

"Fuck you Hale." Came the laughing reply.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I eyed the shadowy footage with interest. Where had Lucas gotten a hold of such damning footage...and who the hell allowed themselves to be videotaped ranting against the majority of the social princesses and princes of the school?

A stoned person, that's who.

And as for how he managed to videotape such epic failure at life, well he is my brother.

Do the math.

Oh wait, this is my favorite part.

"Sadie Vialpando once told Liz Opelt's mom that Liz was a frequent shoplifter, just so Sadie could get Liz's boyfriend alone at one of those lame-ass closet parties where everyone gets paired off to fool around. Course Sadie slept with Jeremiah and gave him a severely unfortunate case of VD, which Jeremiah later gave to Liz. Liz still doesn't know that it was Sadie who he cheated with and gave her the clap. Stupid cow can't see anything beyond her new nose."

The glossy-eyed girl swayed in her seat on the camera, giggling and inhaling on the roach that was barely big enough not to burn her fingers.

A familiar male voice in the background grumbled something unintelligible and the girl almost felt over she was laughing so hard. Tears were leaking down her cheeks as she smiled beautifully into the camera.

"That's right. My mother _is_ a former Miss America. That's how she met my dad. He was one of the judges. She found out a week after the pageant that she was knocked up. Had to have a secret abortion, but not before she blackmailed my father into putting a rock on her finger the size of Somali."

Then came the hysterical laughter again and I shook my head in wonder at the completely cabbaged girl who was willingly giving up every secret, family or otherwise, she could think of.

And that was a ton; thirteen minutes of footage. Thirteen minutes of sexual encounters, including calling 's star cellist a "small-weinered non-fuck," tales of boob and nose jobs, piercings not seen under normal circumstances, embarrassing menstrual stories, and other insults that dated back to the first grade when Samantha DeLane insisted on being the first person to use the purple crayon (wax-eating whore). All from the golden girl of St. Olaf's very own mouth.

No one was going to believe what they saw when they received a video attachment tomorrow morning instead of the usual quarterly report from our esteemed student body president and almost definite ivy league graduate, Tanya Denali.

My fingers twitched once and then pressed send.


	9. In the place where chaos reigns

_**"A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes."  
**_

~Mark Twain

**Chapter Nine: In the place where chaos reigns**

I jumped as thunder rattled the window pane. It wasn't raining yet, but it would. Thunder was an ominous sign, but a sure one, that sooner or later the storm would come.

And in the hallowed halls of academic fortitude and social diplomacy (ha), the storm had definitely hit.

And hit hard.

There was first the soft murmur of whispers, light as the early fall breeze, escalating into a low rumble of shock, or horror, of mocking laughter.

Then the waves began to crash like cymbals, ripple after ripple, tide after tide, until everyone was awash in murky waters.

You think you can withstand the hurricane until its right upon you, and in that split second, you are too late.

Already dead.

And all that's left of you is a corpse washed up on the shore.

Tanya Denali hadn't even heard the winds rising before she was swallowed by the monster tidal wave that is adolescence. That is revenge and deliberately cruelty. That is a war of backstabbing diamond-encrusted daggers and smiles pasted on the face of everyone as they let you bleed out on the marble tiles.

She should have known; she was obviously a master player of the game.

Now she was a corpse.

Because of us.

Because of Rosalie Hale and Edward Cullen, and by association, me.

A natural disaster created by the hand of man (well, woman).

I had never met Tanya, never spoken a single word to her. She was student body president and one of the smartest people to ever have graced these halls. She scored perfect on her SAT's, headed the National Honor Society and the Debate Team, and ran cross country to keep healthy. Blonde and tiny, with a perfect frame and bright blue eyes, she smiled at everyone and spent countless hours touring ivy-league campuses. Not necessarily a Queen Bee, but popular enough to be untouchable. No boyfriend, no closet of skeletons.

Until now.

Footage taken of her as a freshman coming back to haunt the senior who had everything to lose.

Footage taken of her by the guy who had taken her virginity and toyed with her, getting her high and giggly before discarding her.

Footage taken by the older brother of my devious roommate.

She hadn't even told me before it happened; I had to find out like everyone else the morning I clicked on the "message from the student body president" and watched, in fascinated horror, as she committed social suicide in front of the entire student body she had been elected to lead.

Except that it wasn't social suicide. It was social murder of the first degree. Meticulously planned and executed. No remorse, not even a faux look of shock or horror as every mouth and tongue in this place ignored their teachers and talked about it.

As Tanya Denali was led away by a security officer to the administration building.

As her "friends" cried in public, made accusations of her being addicted to pot (hel-lo?) and made her a leper until the end of time (or graduation).

She hadn't been seen since.

Should I feel bad for her? She had said those things, smoked those drugs, done it all without remorse. She had allowed herself to be taped. She had done it all to herself, Rosalie had merely exposed it. It seemed an extraordinarily stupid thing for such a bright girl to do, so maybe she had deserved it.

Maybe.

Maybe.

But right now, I had more pressing matter to deal with.

Like a student body that was eagerly trying to sniff out who exactly had the brass set to go after Tanya Denali.

Like a roommate who had floated me an unconcerned, almost joyous explanation before going jogging in the midst of a thunderstorm.

Like a certain boy who was avoiding me, even when I was sitting next to him at lunch.

Like a missing copy of _Paradise Lost_.

There was only one of those problems that I could currently work on, which is why I was rooting through Rosalie's disaster of a room, since I had already completely destroyed my portion of our suite. Invasion of privacy or not, I needed to get out of my head and hearing about someone else's epic downfall into sin sounded heavenly right now, pun intended.

I sighed and found a cute purse/backpack. I dug through it, pulling out a stack of papers and books. No epic poetry there.

But there were standardized testing scores.

Rosalie Evelyn Hale, date of birth, social security number, overall score---

Holy shit.

That couldn't be right.

90th percentile overall?

91st percentile in **math**?

That couldn't be right.

Rosalie was a remedial math student, Edward had said so. I had seen her pull out an Algebra I book…

What the hell?

Had she cheated somehow? Had the school changed the answer sheet to keep their students looking like academic all-stars? Had Edward gone in and changed her answers? Could you even do that? Could you pay someone off for grades and an Ivy League acceptance? Had she gotten help with her tests? Sat next to the resident brainiac?

How the hell had she managed to cheat the system?

Another crack of thunder sent me jumping up with a squeak of surprise. I shoved Rosalie's papers back into her bag/purse and shut her door behind me. The last thing I needed was for Rosalie to catch me going through her things.

Fuck. What the hell was going on?

I needed answers. And Rosalie had already blown me off.

Edward would probably evade all my questions while playing with his mop of sextastic hair, before distracting me with his crooked tie and grin.

Emmett…Emmett was my best shot as getting some answers and becoming an equal player in this stupid, insane little game of puppet master they were all playing.

I grabbed my keys and was out the door before I could remember that Emmett was avoiding me. Before I could remember that I was pissed off and hurt that he would have sex with my roommate, but not with me.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A tall (ok, so who wasn't tall compared to me?) kid with enough hair product to create his own little hole in the ozone answered the door and my brain belatedly processed that Emmett probably had a roommate.

"Get out." I slid past the kid and shut the door behind him, locking it. Well, that wasn't hard.

Emmett looked up from his desk, where a pile of books were stacked.

He was reading our poly geo text, making up the chapters he had missed in the first few weeks. So maybe not everyone cheated their way into high test scores.

"Alice? Did you just…I don't think Mike has his keys."

"Good." I huffed, and crossed my arms. He was in his leather desk chair, swiveling back and forth between me and his homework. " Close the book."

Emmett's grin widened and before I knew it, he had snatched me onto his lap, onto the swiveling leather desk chair. His hands immediately detoured up my skirt.

"Close the book huh? You want my undivided attention? You've had it since day one. God, I spend almost every class just thinking about this."

His fingers were rubbing me through my underwear and I braced myself on his shoulders, trying not to shiver. Or moan.

"N-no. Really. We need to talk. As in, not fool around."

He grimaced, visibly, before sending one longing look at his now closed textbook. Flattering, really. He'd rather be reading about the treaty lines of the middle East than speak with me.

"If this is about your bed, Rosalie didn't tell me that it was---"

"Rosalie. Rosalie fucking Hale. Seriously? You don't even like her! But then she throws some tantrum _royale_ and you just prance over there to have sex with her to make her feel better? You can change classes to be with _her_, but you can't show up to art and spend some time with me? You all can just look the other way as she goes about destroying another human being, only Oops! No one told Alice any of this….and what the _hell_ does my bed have to do with anything?"

Emmett was sitting there, with me straddling his rather wide hips, staring at me with wide brown eyes, both eyebrows nearly in his scalp.

And then I pictured Rosalie's room again, with hardly any room to walk because all of her crap was strewn on every available millimeter of floor space and dresser and the bed…

Bed. Her bed was the biggest disaster of them all, with clothes piled high and her uniform pieces thrown across it, along with tangled covers and a few magazines and books…

"You had _sex_ on my bed? My _bed_! _My_ bed!" My arms shot out to gesture violently. The chair swiveled wildly.

And then I fucking fell off of his lap and onto the floor.

Somebody with karmic influence must hate me.

Emmett, fucknut that he is, looked like he might laugh for a half of a second, but seeing my face wiped that look of shocked amusement right off his face.

I reached out from where I was sprawled, grabbed the closest thing within reach, and chucked it at him.

He caught his Varsity letterman's jacket before the sleeve whapped him in the face. He wasn't so lucky with the keys that had fallen from his jacket pocket, and they clinked against his chest like pissed off chimes. Shit, I had such crappy aim. I was three feet away!

His (empty) book bag was next, followed by the shoes he had probably kicked off the moment he stepped in the door, leaving them there for people like me to trip over. Or fall on.

"Hey—HEY!" He roared as the first shoe hit the wall behind him as he ducked. His hands caught my arms before I could throw the second monster shoe. Jesus, you could fit an entire family into one of those suckers.

And with an ease that was as embarrassing as it was infuriating, he scooped me up and forced me to drop the shoe. It landed with a thud on his bare foot and he cursed and staggered a bit, squeezing me too tightly and I gasped, desperately needing some air that wasn't infected with his warm, yummy cologne.

"Shit. Ow. Fucker." Emmett hopped a little and I jerked in his arms like an unfortunate, badly-treated ragdoll.

"Put me down. Ape." I muttered, pushing at his arms and chest.

"Fine. Fuck." He dropped me onto his bed like I was a sack of rocks. I exhaled sharply as I bounced on the mattress and attempted to coordinate all my limbs.

Emmett was staring down at me, arms crossed, looking mildly irate. I flipped him off.

"Get over it. You're fifteen, not five. Stop acting like a spoiled kid and talk to me. Key word, talk. Not 'yell', not 'throw', not 'shriek like a goddamn banshee'. Talk."

Exactly. I was fifteen. Talking to a boy about this stuff was like attempting to sneeze without closing your eyes. It just didn't happen. I couldn't imagine myself doing it.

Much like I couldn't imagine myself having sex, because the idiot asshole two feet away from me had decided to go fishing for trouser trout with Rosalie instead of me.

"You just...why couldn't you have...why are you SO STUPID?" I huffed, mortified and nearly in tears. And I didn't cry when I was sad or guilty or even during that time of the month—I cried when I was pissed off and humiliated.

There was no way in hell I would allow myself to cry now. So instead, I kept talking. Idiot.

"You don't include me in things. I'm just the hick country girl who's rounding out this perverse ménage a quartet. And you won't have sex with me. You'll have sex with Rose. You'll have sex with every jersey-chasing, I-painted-your-number-on-my-face-at-the-football-game nitwit out there. But you won't have sex with me. Edward will have sex with me. Ja-

"Did Edward try to have sex with you? Because we went best of five on that shit and I won. Tails always trumps heads, which that little punk should know."

And we were back to the coin flipping.

"I don't give a flying fuck if you two had a pissing contest over who gets to do the honors. What I am saying is that I want to get laid. What I said after the party was that I wanted to get laid. What I am saying now is that I want to get laid. And somehow your ears seem to hear, 'I bet fucking Rosalie on Alice's bed would be a really great idea.'"

I could see the exact moment when it hit him that he had hurt my feelings. He blanched like his mama had just told him to finish eating his broccoli.

"I just...how could you be so stupid? So fucking dense? I thought that was all an act, but apparently not."

My fingernails really needed to be cut. And painted. And—shit I was never going to be able to look him in the eye again—

"Alice."

"What." Yeah, act all pouty and whiny. That's a total turn-on.

"I'm sorry."

"Ok."

"I hate when you girls do that shit. You know you're still pissed at me, why say 'ok' like you accept my apology? Because you don't."

"Yeah."

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence. I had always hated being apologized to; it made me feel awkward and graceless because Emmett was right, half the time I didn't forgive the person. I certainly wasn't over this.

"I'm not going to stop fucking Rosalie."

Ok, was he kidding me with this shit?

"I'm not going to stop fucking Rosalie because this is part of the deal. We're all getting something out of this, and what I'm getting is sex. So yeah, I fuck around with her, she's hot. I'd have to be half dead to NOT want to fuck around with her. I'm sixteen, I can't look at shoelaces without thinking about sex. And yeah, we didn't have sex after the party. But we will...if you still want to."

"So why didn't we?" Because I sure as hell wasn't deterring him that night.

Emmett looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Alice...you're so tiny. Like literally, I could span your waist completely with me hands. And I'm...shit. I'm not exactly built for china shops, you know? It's going to hurt, ok? I don't even know how...I think you won't like it. Like, ever. Like I'll just be some chore you have to do a couple of time of a week, and twice on Sundays, you know? I'll just be squashing you and it'll be uncomfortable and you'll be fake coming just to make me feel better and that shit is NOT cool. I won't put up with that."

The tips of his ears turned red. His hands were in his pockets, and if I wasn't mistaken (because it was staring me in the face from my current position) he was a bit hard.

"So let Edward have sex with me."

"What? Fuck that." Emmett growled at me, hands coming out of his pockets to rest on his hips. He looked a little bit like a pissy twelve-year old girl. It was adorable.

"But it's part of the deal."

"Yeah, and after you and I have sex, you and he can do the freak nasty as often as you want, well whenever you and I aren't doing it." The boyish smile was back. I resisted the urge to smile back at him, and failed horrifically.

"So....we are going to have sex?"

"We'll rock the casbah. And humptoberfest is right around the corner, and we can stuff the turkey in November, and oh oh! My favourite joke of all time. What do a priest and a Christmas tree have in common?"

I stared at him. Weren't we just having a serious conversation?

"Their balls are for decoration."

I couldn't stop the giggle, even though I knew damn well he was desperately trying to switch the subject so we wouldn't have to talk about the sex anymore.

"Alice?"

"Yes?"

"Wanna fool around?"

I sat up, my back against the wall as I half laid in his bed. Apparently once you opened the honesty gates, all the bullshit went out the window.

Halle-fucking-lujah.

I couldn't even find my voice to answer; my smile must have given it away because Emmett slid in the bed next to me and propped his head up on his hand. I mimicked his pose.

"I didn't even get you naked last time. What a waste...you were all boozy and soft and I was such an idiot I didn't even think to get you out of that shirt."

I gulped audibly as his breath hit my face. My nerves came rushing back. I'd only done this once, and even though I woke up every morning since and relived those moments in the privacy of my now desecrated bed, I had no idea what I was doing or what he expected...

...well not sex. That I knew. And suddenly I was a lot less mad about that, seeing as how I was in no way, shape, or form ready for sex.

"Relax Alice. Nothing we haven't done before, right? Take off your tie and shirt."

How was I supposed to relax when I was lying next to this gorgeous man and he wanted to see me naked? Especially since I KNEW he had seen Rosalie naked, not even a week ago.

I've seen Rosalie naked. I'd want to have sex with that body if I was a guy.

My fingers went to my buttons on my school-issued white button-up, which was tucked into my skirt, per the rules.

"Start with the tie." Emmett's voice was warm and full of laughter. His hand landed on my hand and began rubbing absently.

I loosened my tie and began to tug it over my head.

"Allow me."

The tie was pulled completely apart (damn it, I couldn't tie a tie to save my life) and tossed behind him onto the floor.

I inhaled sharply when his knuckles brushed against my chest as he tugged the tie off.

"Shirt next."

I finished the last of the buttons and he pushed the folds open to reveal...my plain white Hanes bra.

Well, what was I supposed to wear? A bright red contraption with those gel-filled things? It was a thin white button-up shirt!

"Hot." He commented dryly and I poked him hard.

"Shut up."

"Alice, you could be wearing a pink bra with Barbie's on it and I wouldn't care. I want what's in the bra, not on the bra."

I didn't say anything and he looked at warily.

"Am I correctly interpreting the silence as girl freak-out for 'I'll never be as hot as insert random starlet here?"

"Maybe."

"Up." Emmett commanded almost immediately.

"What?"

"Get up. You need to see something."

I frowned but was already being pulled up. I stood on my knees, about to roll back onto the floor, when I was wrapped up in a warm, firm set of arms and deposited on a lap.

Emmett was sitting against the headboard, legs spread out on the bed. I was now sitting on top of him, my legs outside of his, back resting against his broad chest.

"Why is it that you seem to favour this position with me?" I finally found my voice and squirmed a bit. I wasn't the least bit uncomfortable with this arrangement.

"Because the temptation to roll you onto your back is less torturous from this angle."

I looked over my shoulder to give him an unimpressed look. "I won't break."

He ignored me. "Turn back around. Look straight ahead."

I turned my head back and did as he asked.

There was a full length mirror on the adjacent wall that was facing us directly. My face, slightly above Emmett's peered back at me.

I could see Emmett looking at my tits.

My toes were already curled in anticipation and my heels were digging into the mattress.

Emmett's hands were resting on the top of my thighs, playing with the hem of my plaid skirt. So freaking cliché.

"I promise you Alice, that we'll have sex, if that's what you want. But first, you need to stop worrying about other girls and Rosalie and whatever the hell else you girls spend your time obsessing over. Because there's only one thing on my brain when you're within fifteen feet of me. And it's how you looked riding my fingers. That was possibly the hottest thing I will ever have the good fortune to see in my entire life, and I don't care if you think I'm shitting you. So I want you to watch yourself and watch me."

"I-I don't know if I can..."

Emmett's hips arched up into ass, grinding himself against me. One hand moved to my stomach to keep my still as I jumped in surprise, but quickly travelled up to my collar to rub along the curve of the delicate bone. We both watched his hand in the mirror.

He tugged the shirt from my arms and his hands slid around my front and up my torso to my breasts. One large paw covered each small mound, warm and massaging as I bit back a gasp or a groan, I'm not really sure which.

His fingers plucked at my nipples through the soft cotton and I could begin to see their outline in the mirror. Half of my wanted to close my eyes, but the other half was transfixed by the look on Emmett's face.

The man looked like he was seeing god, and I wasn't even half naked yet.

Emmett was clearly away of this as well. A hand ran up and down my spine once before flicking at my bra strap, once, twice. It came undone and he pulled that away from me.

I heard him groan behind me. Emmett was so...god he was so...everything he did lit me up like a firecracker. So hot, so wonderful, so mmmm, all over.

"Touch yourself baby. Make your nipples hard."

"What?" I jerked upright from leaning on his chest. Wasn't that what he was for???

Emmett tugged me back, his hips working in a circular motion as he settled me once more. "I keep picturing you, all spread out on my king-sized bed back home, lots of pillows, getting yourself off while I watch. God, I want that. I'd get red sheets to match those streaks in your hair and you'd be in the middle of the bed and just playing with yourself like no one else was around...show me how you want me to touch you Alice. Put your hands on your tits."

And by god, I felt a compulsion to do just that! Once more I was the puppet, slaving to my master's wishes and desires.

Only this time, I would also be getting some of the satisfaction.

Shyly I palmed my own breasts. It was a familiar action in a biological way. Who hadn't propped their boobs up to make them look bigger in the mirror? Who hadn't inspected every inch of their body after a shower?

But touching my boobs in a sexual way...I had never done that before.

So I learned. I cupped them and squeezed them and kneaded them. It didn't feel like it did when Emmett had his fingers inside of me, but it didn't feel bad.

Especially when Emmett put his hands over mine and mimicked my motions.

"Just like that." Emmett rumbled against the back of my shoulder. His hips were grinding harder, more frantically against mine, and his erection was much more noticeable as he shifted me on it.

One of his hands dropped beneath my skirt and began rubbing me through my underwear. I cried out and my hips jerked violently. I felt his erection twitch as he steadied me with one arm around my waist.

"Am I going to have to hold you down?"

The groan in his voice told me he would like nothing else but to do just that. I shifted my hands, demanding his fingers keep moving and he laughed in a strained way as he complied.

"Have you ever sucked cock before baby?" He whispered to me.

I shook my head and continued to roll and shift my hips demandingly.

"God, those lips of yours...you've got cock sucking lips. And cheekbones. I'd give half my trust fund just to see you hollow out those cheekbones as you suck me off."

I'd keep that in mind.

Emmett was kissing his way along my shoulder blade to my spine as his arm tightened and we leaned back slightly. His hips began to thrust upwards, leaving the bed and pushing me into the air.

Up my spine, tilting my head, sucking at the skin at the back of my neck. His lips were the only thing keeping me from floating off to happy land.

His legs widened and took mine with as they were hooked over his bent knees. His fingers pushed the material of my underwear aside. His middle finger pushed into me, stopping at just the fingertip. I watched him toy with my entrance and whimpered in frustration, bucking at him impatiently.

Emmett's cock apparently liked that very much. He let out a strangled groan and his finger plunged all the way in to my, burying his finger to the knuckle.

"Oh yeah. Like that. Just like...fuck."

I didn't exactly need a lot of encouragement. I fisted one hand in his shirt and began pleading with him to touch me.

"Touch you where?"

"My clit. Please. I can't—I can't..." I tensed as the sensations bordered on too much. Too much stimulation at this unbearable lever. I needed to either get off of literally get off of the intoxicating male who was watching me come apart in his arms via the mirror.

"Put your hands on your tits again."

Emmett's breathing was nearly as ragged as mine as I strained against him, hands immediately going where he directed, squeezing and tugging and pinching just so I'd have something to concentrate on besides the sensations being almost painful in their intensity.

"Emmett." I was so close, but I didn't know how to get to the next level, to that steep incline that led to that wonderful place.

His free hand reached down to rub my clit—hard. His index and his middle finger rubbed back and forth with pressure, though not a ton of speed. Side to side, up and down, in little circles, as his finger continued to pressed and roam inside of me.

Then suddenly his finger was gone and my eyes shot open—when had I closed them?

I watched in the mirror as he put the finger to his mouth. I heard a wet slurping sound and I felt my stomach clench tight.

Two fingers returned and sunk into me. I swore, loudly. Come on, come on, come on...

His fingers pressed upward and suddenly I was there—without warning it hit and my entire body launched backwards into his, my head cracking on his chest as I sent up both reeling backwards into the headboard.

My chest heaved as I made noises that sounded like someone in a lot of pain. I panted and heaved and fought dizzily not die right then and there. Emmett held me tight with his one arm as his two fingers stayed buried deep, absorbing the tightening and loosening of my muscles. I writhed against him and mewled pitifully.

And then I was surprised as Emmett growled and arched hard against me. Tingles of warmth invaded my lower half as he shook as his muscles tenses so tight and then gave after an infinitely long period of time.

We lay there, breathing heavily, Emmett's flushed face resting against my back.

"Look what you did." And he ground his now wet crotch into my skirt. Emmett McCarty had come in his pants, over _me_.

Rosalie who?

I giggled and half turned to snuggle into his white-button up shirt. I groaned as my cheek rested on a button.

"How did we still botch the whole getting naked thing, _again_? It seemed like a patently simple manoeuvre."

Emmett yawned and tweaked one of my nipples. "Last time you lost your panties, this time your bra. Technically that counts as naked."

"You're still completely dressed." I wanted to snicker.

"You can work on that the next time."

Next time indeed.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rosalie, Edward, Emmett, and I were exiting the cafeteria as per usual the next day, hands and arms woven in a carefully arranged "careless" manner. Edward was toying with my hair again, one hand a fixture at the base of my neck.

Rosalie and Emmett occasionally bumped hips and legs as we tread the narrow pathways to our next classes.

There was a downturned heard coming our way, hair swept back into a plain ponytail. It was easy to see from the golden color of that woefully turned head who was coming against us.

I slowed instinctively. Edward pulled me along, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on the back of my neck as we didn't budge.

We would force Tanya Denali off the sidewalk in deference to us.

She slowed as she approached us, but didn't move off the path.

She veered slightly to the left and directly into the pathway of Rosalie and Emmett.

I held my breath and waited.

Her head came up and I could see the tear-streaks on her cheeks, as well as the slightly crazed look of someone who had just had her world turned inside out and then shaken for good measure.

The two blondes paused and stared one another in the eye. If it weren't for eye color, they would make two strikingly similar molds, though Rosalie was a good three or four inches taller.

She knew.

As the two girls stared each other down, Tanya's face tight and strained, Rosalie just stared back blankly.

Tanya knew exactly where that tape had come from. Of course she did, she was going to Harvard or Yale or where ever else.

She knew it was all deliberate.

And then she moved, stepped to her left and brushed past Rosalie, walking on the grass toward whatever direction she had been heading.

Where ever she was going, it would be a lonely walk.

Edward and I were strolling along again, without my feet having realized they were moving. I looked to the side and saw Rosalie smiling—no teeth, no Crest-kid advertisements, just a small, smug small that played about her lips and eyes as we continued on our merry way, our victim already forgotten.

We were the hurricane.

And I had a sinking feeling that we would be leaving more corpses strung out on the beach before we were through.

Forget Paradise Lost and the fall of man. I had my own impending downfall to worry about.


	10. Chess Master

"**Most gods throw dice, but Fate plays chess, and you don't find out til too late that he's been playing with two queens all along.**"

Chapter 10: Chess Master

My feet were curled up on the other side of his lap. My butt was actually in his lap. One hand was cupping his cheek, the other was gripping his curls. We had established a very slow yet frantic dip and suck rhythm that allowed any viewers a clear shot of our tongues dipping back and forth between his mouth and mine.

The bell had rung for final dismissal and voices and footsteps surrounded us in a jumbled mess of noise.

We didn't stop.

Using my hair as half a shield, I pulled away and looked lovingly into brown eyes. I wriggled slightly in his lap.

"Your ego repaired enough for another round yet?" It had been well over two weeks since I had schooled him on the proper ways to get fucked. I still couldn't think about the Neanderthal, shocked-stupid look on his face as I kicked him out, condom hanging off his limp dick. Even now I was suppressing giggles.

"You ever think guys shove their dicks in your mouth just so you'll shut the fuck up?"

I stiffened, but he pulled me back softly by cupping my chin, tonguing my bottom lip before sucking it into his mouth with an incredibly loud and wet sound of suction. His hand cradled my back and traced my jaw line with a single finger. He was literally petting me, like a damn cat.

I went along with it, but scorched the back of his neck with my fingernails.

When we parted again it was quieter, but there were still people milling about.

Emmett sighed.

"Why do you make me be mean to you?"

I snuggled into his chest and gave the passerbys a smug, contented smile as I sighed in faux, completely scripted bliss.

"Why? Are you thinking that beneath this sculpted, genetically gifted shell that I'm an emotionally scarred child whose parents didn't love her enough and gave her a complex which lead to her becoming a total bitch in the interest of keeping people from finding out that really I'm just an insecure, lonely girl needing a shoulder?"

I lightly kissed his lips and ran a finger down the slope of his nose.

"Your parents?" Amateur.

"Twenty-five years of wedded bliss and counting." Mostly True.

"And your body?" Unobservant amateur.

"Au natural, as you probably should have noticed when I was naked, but I forgive you for being a bit cock-absorbed." Tell me to stick that in my mouth and suck it asshole.

Emmett's lips thinned out and I smiled brightly at him. "Now, now. None of that. We are happy, shiny people who are so into each other we can't help but suck face on one of the most localized benches right outside the busiest buildings on campus just as three hundred other kids are being released from class for the day."

The frown desisted and died a sudden death.

"Anyway, I should probably go. I've got some errands to run in town and the driver should be here any minute."

I hopped off Emmett's lap with one last kiss and grabbed by bag. "Same time on Thursday? Maybe this time at the lockers?"

I didn't wait for a reply.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tonight was the night.

I was going all semi-lesbo just to fulfill a superiority complex that rivaled Hitler's and stroke an ego that was so inflated it could float under the weight of a hippo or twelve.

Ironically enough, I didn't expect to have to do that until I was married and nearing my forties.

I had done my research, watching about two dozen internet videos of girl on girl before realizing they all were the same.

Deep naughty voices and floaty laughter. Check.

Stilletos or knee high boots on at all times. Check.

Air conditioning on full blast for best possible nipple-age. Check.

Waxed hoo-ha. Check. Well, I had shaved it. That was really my only option seeing as how there was no Brazilian waxing salon in town. Next time I went home I would have to make an appointment.

Lots of moaning and pouty-lipped kisses and nipple-tweaking. I could do that. Totally check.

Sheet clenching, panting, octave scaling, seeing deities orgasm?

Eh. I could fake it.

I did my hair with hot rollers to complete that tumbled, well-fucked hair effect and made my way over to Edward's dorm. I knocked and a muffled voice called for me to come in.

This was my first hint that Edward wasn't even home.

Edward had gone to Miss Manners classes every Sunday with me since we were old enough to see over the dinner table. He never just called for someone to enter his domain, especially if he knew it was a female someone.

He answered the door and welcomed the person in.

I pushed the door open and tried not to stare at the girl pacing across the sitting room of Edward's private suite.

I glanced around, wishing there were more rooms so I could avoid looking at her. I was afraid she'd be able to tell I was staring. Which I wanted to do, badly.

And temptation had always posed a problem for me.

"Where's the man of the hour? He missed the grand entrance I had all planned out."

"Yeah, I know, right? I'm Bella. You're Rosalie…need a gin and tonic?"

She wasn't, in fact, _Bella_. She was rather on the plain side, but I also detected that she was plain on purpose because she wanted to go against the stereotype of say, a blonde with big boobs and long legs.

This girl was effectively playing into a stereotype by trying to avoid another one altogether. But she wasn't completely unfortunate looking.

She was shorter than me by a good few inches and she was made-up to look like she was wearing no make-up. No color, just brown eyeliner to make those doe eyes look even more shyly alluring, and mascara. It was artfully done.

Her hair was in a low ponytail, but it was a deep brown with natural red highlights that I was jealous of. You did not put color in your naturally golden hair, it was practically one of the ten commandments.

Who needed that whole bit about coveting someone else's wife anyway?

I watched her mix a gin and tonic, wondering why the hell Edward had tonic stashed in his room, and contemplating why she was in Edward's room alone.

All roads led to the belief that she was his steady fuck, or a massive nympho who was secretly slobbering to get it on with the both of us.

We are, after all, just mildly above the good-looking category.

"Edward has orchestra practice until 5:30. I ditched class at lunch for that punk, hiked all the way down here, and he just runs off. For _orchestra_."

Yeah, that was pretty lame.

"And it wasn't even worth it! He just wanted to talk about this, like have a conversation about sex, which I must say, is a first. I just thought he was texting me to have normal, middle of the day sex. It's never that easy with Edward."

Steady fuck theory confirmed. Waiting on confirmation on the crazy nympho hypothesis.

Oops, it was my turn to speak. What had she been rambling about?

"Suddenly there's an elephant in the room, right?"

"Or a stacked blonde supermodel with perky tits."

Why thank you. I was purposely not wearing a bra and had pinched the shit out of my nipples to achieve just that effect.

Speaking of which, I sauntered over to the thermostat in the bedroom and cranked the A/C. I kicked off my shoes, figuring if he wasn't here to enjoy them I wasn't going to bother, and plopped down on his bed.

She watched me.

"You ever done this before?"

"Sex? Or sex with someone who's conveniently missing a dick and just happens to wear a bra?"

"The latter."

"Nope." I laid back on the bed. I certainly wasn't going to ask the return question.

Predictably the silence pushed her to talk without me having to do (or admit to) anything.

"Me either. Not that I'm against it. Hell, you should always try something once, right?"

If she didn't shut up soon, I'd stick my tongue down her throat just to shut her the hell up.

And as if sensing that I was starting to get annoyed, Edward breezed through the door in his school uniform, folder of sheet music in one hand.

And as if sensing that I was starting to get annoyed, Edward breezed through the door in his school uniform, folder of sheet music in one hand.

"Thanks for waiting for me ladies."

I wanted to smack that smug crooked grin off his face.

"Ah, Rosalie. I see you're already ready to go. Last chance to back out."

"You did me a solid and I return on my favors." I called back to him as he toed off his shoes and tugged at his tie. The jacked was tossed over his desk chair.

"Classic Rosalie Hale. No pussy-footing around. If you'll wait for just a minute, Bella and I are going to watch you get naked. Slowly."

Sure Edward, take your time. Get yourself comfortable. Allow me to lay here in uncomfortable awkwardness you sanctimonious fuck.

They pulled the loveseat up to he end of his double bed (what, no queen?) and Edward pulled Bella down into his lap, pushing her ponytail out of the way so he could see over her shoulder. His arm wrapped around her waist and she snuggled into his bony bod, both pairs of eyes now on me.

I rolled myself up to a sitting position, legs dangling off the edge of the bed, not quite touching the floor.

I reached up to pull off one sock and flung it at him.

It predictably hit Bella in the chest and stayed there. Emo-girl didn't even seem to notice, _she was holding Edward's hand. _

Ok, what the fuck? One, when I'm getting naked you look at me bitch. Two, when the fuck did Edward start holding hands? That crazy bastard is a mildly compulsive germaphobe.

Edward pulled his limp hand (so the hand-holding hadn't been mutual I'm assuming) aawy from hers to toss my erstwhile sock aside with a flick of his wrist, looking somewhat annoyed.

So sorry to ruin your perved-out male fantasies with my foot odor.

I pulled off the jewel-toned green capped sleeved shirt I had put on with a jean skirt, revealing no bra and my two perfectly pointed (Jesus it was cold in here) nipples.

I scooted over to the edge of the bed and stood up, unbuttoning my skirt and pushing it past my hips before allowing it to drop to the floor with a jangle of metal meeting hardwood.

Edward winced at the sound, but his eyes stayed glued to the emerald underwear that matched my shirt. I would never admit I had found the cute thong at Target over the summer when picking myself up some pepperoni Hot Pockets.

"Leave the thong on." Edward said, but his voice was suspiciously strained. That and if he stared any harder, I'd suspect he was trying to see right through me.

Take that chess master.

I shrugged and sat back down on the bed, hands running over the black down comforter.

Edward leaned down and whispered in Bella's ear.

I watched her shiver and reach up to stroke his face blindly.

She got up and crawled onto the bed, stopping right next to me.

Brown eyes were looking back into my own. Brown on brown, except hers were guiless, open holes that couldn't hide a single secret or lie in their depths.

She was nervous, but determined. The "anything for Edward" vibe she was working should have been tattooed on her forehead, it would have been less conspicuous.

Her hands took mine and placed them on her waist, at the hem of her worn cotton t-shirt. Together we pulled the shirt over her head.

Some hair came loose from her ponytail and I carefully unwound the band, using my hands to splay her hair out in that classic I'm-getting-fucked look. I reached down and focused on the button on her jeans.

With that gray Hanes bra without an underwire, it was just like being in the locker room with other girls before gym class or a field hockey game.

I didn't mind being naked in front of those girls in the showers or in the changing rooms, why should I be freaked out by a girl in her bra?

She stood up and slid out of the jeans.

Purple cotton underwear on the bottom. I rolled my eyes. Didn't she know anything about giving a guy what he wants?

There is a reason, after all, that the porn industry never goes through an economic recession.

Or was this more of the same I'm being purposely not sexy to prove that I'm not into the whole perpetuating the teenage sex thing?

I had never felt so confused in my whole life.

So I did what any control-freak did when the situation was spinning out of control.

I took charge.

I leaned in and kissed her.

It was…different. Except it was the same.

The lips were the same. They were slightly smaller than say, Emmett's wide mouth, but they were lips--wet and soft.

It was the smells that were different. Instead of cologne I smelled flowers. Instead of a soapy, neutral shampoo, the smell of fruit was wafting into my nose. And her hair was getting into her mouth, which was kind of gross…or was that my hair?

I hoped it was mine.

It wasn't weird that I was one actively doing the tongue thrusting and directing of the kiss, from tilting her head to make sure Edward had a good view, to cupping her jaw and opening her mouth to me. I set the pace, controlled when things got intense and deep and when we lightened up to teasing kisses and caresses.

So it was pretty much like any other kiss for me. I was comfortable in control.

I moved my hand (the one closer to Edward) to her back and reached to unclasp her bra.

It took me three tries and I could hear Edward chuckling until I finally got it off of her.

I retaliated by pushing her onto her back so that we were sideways on the bed. It wasn't a great angle, and our hair was blocking most of the action, but my hands reached out to palm her breasts and squeeze until she exhaled sharply.

I waited until she made that sharp, breathy noise before kissing her again.

Edward went silent and I silently told him to eat crow.

I had the upper hand.

"Stop."

Bella froze like someone had an electric collar on her. Lips going frozen and hands coming up to rest palms up on the comforter, like someone was arresting her.

I rolled off of Bella and propped my head up on my elbow, giving him a poise to drool over

And if he would have been looking at _me_, he would have drooled.

"Rosalie, move to the head of the bed. Lay on your back."

He was giving me directions now? Who did he think he was? I huffed and hauled myself to the headboard and the massive fluffy pillows. I laid down, rested my hands on my stomach and awaited for the Woody Allen wannabe to decide what he wanted.

He was still looking at Bella, who was flushed with swollen lips.

"Bella. I want you to make Rosalie come."

Both of our heads swiveled towards him.

He was still sitting in the loveseat, slouched down and legs stretched out onto the bed, even at a slight upward angle.

He was still fully clothed and even though I eyed it thoroughly, he had no trace of an erection.

Well, shit.

"Rosalie, you aren't allowed to anything except for lay there. Nothing else."

So this was about me? He didn't like what I was doing? He didn't like me taking advantage of his trailer-park booty call? He wasn't turned on by my taking charge?

Well fuck him.

I was done.

Peace out.

I started to get up and scrambled off the bed. Fuck him and his fucking manipulations. I didn't have to do this—I was doing this to prove a point, not to let him make me feel like a cheap whore. Like some common trick writhing and moaning for rent.

I was Rosalie fucking Hale and—

"If it's too much Rose, you don't have to do this. No harm, no foul."

I was Rosalie fucking Hale and Edward Anthony Cullen had known me since the cradle.

And apparently that mother fucker had been paying attention. He knew exactly how to goad me into a blind rage, just how to soothe the beast, and just how to prick my goddamn pride into submitting.

I tossed my shirt to the floor once more and resumed my previous position, staring concretely at the ceiling, determined to hate every moment of this experience.

Except that then there were…feelings.

Small cold hands on my breasts, lips on my neck. Hands running down my stomach, finding the curve of my hip.

Rubbing at my neck and hands and arms like a goddamn masseuse.

And who managed to stay tense when you had hands working through your knots and making you all warm and sleepy all over?

I was human; I was relaxed.

I was lulled.

And then I was tingling.

Tingling because lips had joined the hands, starting at my mouth and working down to my jaw and neck…oohhh spending time on my neck.

My arms uncrossed.

So did my legs.

She began working on my calves, rubbing deep into the muscle and blowing warm breaths on my skin.

She murmed for me to lift my hips as my underwear slid down my thighs and was discarded.

"That's it…just like that."

I started and tensed. He had taken the words right out of my mouth. Those magic hands, which I refused to associate with the girl who was currently sharing the bed with me, instantly worked harder to keep me relaxed.

I settled after a moment and Edward didn't make any more comments, so I drifted back into that land where I was merely getting a rub-down, only I wouldn't be paying some Swedish woman an exorbitant price afterwards.

Her fingers and lips were at my hip now, tracing the curve down into the inner curves of my thighs and I briefly opened my eyes to see her in between my now wide-open hips, laying on her stomach.

Fingers lightly traced around my lips and over the side of my clit. Lazy, slow circles and I propped my knees up on the bed so I could keep my balance against her fingers. My hips were wriggling as she touched me, half ticklish and half something else entirely.

That something else was sitting in the bottom of my stomach like a hoard of angry butterflies.

Then her fingers slid in between and rubbed my entrance.

Oh, fuck yes. I loved getting finger-banged. Fuck getting head--it's not like guys have any idea of what they are doing down there anyway. I can't imagine a chick would either.

She toyed with me for several moments and I took advantage of the downtime. I was ready to go; she apparently was into dragging this out. So I bit my lip and whimpered a little I time with every loop over my clit, even reaching a hand down to weave in her hair and rub at her scalp.

_I_ had been told that guys like that.

And _finally_, finally two fingers slid into me, and it was a little odd because…well it all felt good, just not the same kind of good it usually felt. That needy, fingernails digging into my palms, hips arching off the bed, gotta-have-it feeling that you get about exactly two events in life: sex and craving cake dough ice cream from Coldstone Creamery. When you get the feeling, you lose every inhibition and social sense of correctness in a way that liquor or drugs never would be able to achieve. Ice cream and sex. Catalysts for anarchy.

So I wasn't wet, but it wasn't like I was the Sahara either. So the initial entry was a bit rocky, but after a few thrusts the ride smoothed out and she began working her fingers in time with her circuits around my clit.

Then she went there.

Her tongue was poking around inside of me while her fingers continued their rather predictable pattern. Well then. That clearly deserves some reaction. I couldn't just have a non-reaction to someone with their tongue down there.

I clenched my hands in the pillows and thrust my chest up in the air, throwing my head back. I pleaded for her and threw in a lot of "oh god's" and "yeses" and some swear words, because if nothing else, you just knew that Edward Cullen was a dirty fucker.

I decided after about ten minutes that there was no way I was ever going to come and so I amped up the writhing and head-tossing and began clenching my muscles and lifting my hips. I could feel the burn in my abs from all of this very odd physical exertion and hit my "climax" with a loud f-bomb and doing as many ass-clenches as I possibly could in a period of thirty second.

I was so into clenching and spasming and sobbing that I shrieked when I felt a heavy hand on my shoulder.

My eyes flew open and I coughed as some air went down the wrong pipe. My eyes watered as I looked up at Edward, who was scowling down at me, on his side next to me.

When the hell had he gotten on the bed?

I had been so determined not to look at him because I knew he'd see through my little act that I hadn't even noticed when he moved.

He had also gotten rid of the tie and school shirt, and his black school pants were beltless and pitching a tent a circus could perform under.

"Shut the fuck up Rosalie." Edward growled. "Just. Shut. Up."

Oh.

Well I guess there wouldn't be any Academy Awards (or porn flicks) in my future. I couldn't even fool a sixteen year old guy into believing I had had an orgasm. Lke he would know what one looks and sounds like.

And then my body arched as Edward pinched one nipple. Hard. I cried out. "Ouch! You—"

Another yelp was ripped from my throat as his fingers—three of them—replaced hers.

But she wasn't gone. Her tiny little midget fingers were now directly on my clit and rubbing with a ferocity that had been altogether missing before as Edward coached her.

I arched unwillingly from the sheer mass of sensation and swear words poured out of my mouth as Edward wriggled his fingers and then very deliberately pressed up.

Oh shit.

I had had this sensation before. Being so strung out that it felt like you were swirling down a drain, only there was not water that you were floating in. You were just spinning and falling and unable to stop either sensation.

Only I wasn't doped up now; I was being tackled by two people hellbent on giving me an orgasm.

And I wasn't going to go down without a fight.

"Here. Use this."

And from my drowning fog I heard the steady hum of what could be only one thing.

The sensation was on my clit before I could even think the word vibrator.

Edward's free hand had to restrain me because I reacted so violently.

Fuck! She had that thing on full blast…could you warn a girl?

I shied away from the gadget until she turned it the fuck down. It was a small bullet, designed for the clit. Was it hers?

Doubtful.

Edward would be prepared. He wanted this; wanted me to experience this, to be humiliated by this…and I was.

Only the waves of 'oh-shit-so-goddamn-good' were more potent and so the embarrassment faded into the black part of my mind, where all the non-sexed-up thoughts lived.

His hand was working my boobs over—pinching and tugging and making me dance like his fucking puppet. His teeth attacked my neck. His vibrator was working it's energizer-bunny mojo all over me and I was dripping on his long, pianist fingers.

Did I stand a chance?

I plunged into the most extreme and almost painfully pleasurable orgasm of my life.

No contest.

My spine about snapped in half and I was fucking sobbing, begging them to stop with the fingers and the humming from the vibrator and the everything.

The next cognitive thought I managedI was vaguely note that my inner muscles were no longer squeezing anything, and that the vibrations had stopped.

When my brain finally jump-started itself back to the world of the living I was alone on the bed, arms and legs spread at awkward angles, a pool of sweat drying on my skin and comforter.

My eyes focused after a couple tries and I saw Bella on top of Edward, rocking and bouncing in abandon.

She still had that ugly-ass bra on. Lazy slut.

She hadn't even gotten his fucking pants off. She had just shoved them open and dropped her grungy self down on his cock.

Edward's head was leaning against the back of the sofa, and his grip on her hips looked painful, it was so tight. He was furiously rocking her up and down like a ragdoll and they were both silent except for the occasional unintelligable grunt.

Oh hell no.

I was just forced into orgasm by two people, allowed a pervert to watch a girl _tongue_ me and now I had to watch them fuck?

I deserved to stuffed like a turkey for my efforts here today. Because, as far as anyone was concerned, I was fucking superwoman.

"Get out."

I threw her worn jeans at her, not caring if they hit her in the face, and practically peeled her off Edward, who was looking more amused than distraught over losing his screw toy. Maybe that was because he knew there was still another one in the room, just waiting for a turn on the merry-go-round.

Put your quarter in and hop on.

I didn't even wait until the door had closed behind her until I tackled Edward and pulled him to the bed. I tugged and tugged until we fell onto the mattress, his lanky body spreading out over mine.

He tried to settle between my hips, but I wouldn't let him. I scooted back further onto the bed. He followed.

"Take it off."

His brows furrowed as he reached for me, but I was already moving again, eluding him.

"God only knows what kind of diseases she's carrying. Take. It. Off."

Edward was looking a bit pissy now, in his disheveled, aroused glory. "You didn't seem to mind when she had her tongue in your cunt." A hand fisted in my hair, preventing me from scooting any further up without making myself a very bald Barbie.

And what exactly _could_ I say to that?

I reached down to the base of his shaft and rolled the condom right off before flinging it aside and tugging him slightly above me. His tip brushed my entrance.

He never stood a chance. His hips pushed into me without mercy, like he simply couldn't help himself.

Because he couldn't.

The low groan of almost pain from the back of his throat told me just how good he was liking this. Better than public school punk-alt girls, better than girl-on-girl, better than heaven or hell.

The stunned look on his face when he finally opened his eyes and his brain caught up to what his body was doing will stay with me for the rest of my life.

Checkmate bitch.

It was worth every fucking second of humiliation, awkwardness, and risk I had taken.

He came gratifyingly soon.

So soon, I didn't even mind that I didn't. Was nowhere close. Edward's hands clutched at my hair and back as he grinded into me, eyes squeezed tightly shut as his rhythm was shot all to hell by my little plot, jerking and shoving into me helplessly. His cock twitched like crazy inside of me as he shook and shuddered and then went still.

He couldn't even bring himself to roll off of me; he just collapsed on top of me, his face nuzzled in my neck and wet hair. One hand toyed idly with my nipple.

His hairy legs tickled.

I let him stay there, though I'm not really sure why. I listened to his ragged heartbeat and the breathing he was trying not to make too loud. I didn't lay a finger on him, just kept my hands to my sides and studied the swirling plaster on the walls.

My eyes squinted in the darkening daylight and I caught sight of an unused condom sticking to the poster of some emo-looking man in Edward's oh-so-posh-and-cultured room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I perched on the very edge of Mrs. Drayton's standard green fabric with wooden frame chair. How very seventies of her.

Ms. Drayton was positive, despite having worked for the last twenty-seven years at St. Olaf's, that her post-hippie child status as a former pot smoker and war protester made her immune to aging. She was certain that nothing had changed since her own youth and that we all found her incredibly hip and relevant.

Which we did, but only because you could go crying to her about anything and she'd let you sit in her office with an excused absence while you missed a biology quiz.

Drayton peered at me, squinting slightly. She probably needed a good pair of reading glasses, but would never lower herself to admitting her age was catching up with her.

"Is this about your math grade Rosalie? Because when I saw that you requested an appointment with me this morning I took the liberty of talking to Dr. Carlisle and he said with a little after school tutoring you could raise that C- to a B or higher by end of term."

I took only a momentary pause and then focused back in on my goal. The other stuff could wait.

"I…this has to be anonymous. I mean, you can do that right? Make sure no one knows I'm the one who is telling you this?

Drayton's eyebrows shot up and she set about making me some herbal tea. She was intrigued and dying to be let in on whatever epic bit of wrongdoing I was about to divulge. She'd keep me here all afternoon if I wanted. Too bad I already had plans.

"In the years, and I won't say how many, since I've been a counselor here, not one student has been harassed or terrorized for speaking up. I give you my word that tradition will continue no matter what you wish to tell me Rosalie."

Typical. Counselors always said your name after statements of trust like that, to make you think they know you. I fought back a smirk, and instead settled for a grateful, tightly-lipped smile. Gotcha. She wouldn't go to the police, only the administration, and only because she was a mandatory reporter. She wanted to a friend more than she wanted to be an adult.

Isn't that why it's so easy to manipulate adults though? Growing old must suck.

"I think Royce King is addicted to heroin and he's selling it to pay off his drug debt."

I heard the sharp inhalation of shock and I bit my lip. Laughing right now would not be a good thing.

I had hit jackpot.


	11. Stain of Honesty

_**"A lie which is half a truth is ever the blackest of lies."**_

_**~Alfred Lord Tennyson**_

Chapter 11: Stain of Honesty

It had been a week and a half since I had seen Emmett in a way that had nothing to do with school. Even at lunch he was preoccupied and he kept glancing over at the table full of jocks.

It was a table I studiously avoided because of a certain senior and his newly minted freshman girlfriend, who was a huge fan of flaunting her t-bar.

I mean, you're at a private school. You're wearing a plaid skirt that you've obviously rolled until it's indecent. You wear white stilettos. Is the thong hanging out above the waistline of your skirt really necessary?

It was the last week in October. My birthday was in five days, though I hadn't said a word about it.

I had planned to say something about it to a certain brunette boy who could make me wet with just one flash of that grin, especially since I'd be sixteen and doing _stuff_ would no longer be a matter of legality if that was what was deterring him.

Except that Emmett had turned into a virtual ghost.

A ghost who was obsessing over the football playoffs to an almost frightening degree.

It was the first time I had ever seen the competitive streak in him, the pure tunnel-vision that kept him quiet and tense, and apparently celibate.

So I was bundled in my jacket and waiting on the bleachers to the side of the cheerleaders and other girls clustered about, sketching for my new assignment.

It was six o' clock and they were just ending practice, which seemed excessive to me, but who was I to judge?

I stood as the guys walked with helmets in hand towards the locker room. I locked eyes with Emmett, who was perhaps the most beat-up of all the guys, and gave him a half-smile.

He nodded at me, and then shook his head.

He walked right past me with the other guys without ever speaking a word to me.

Well so much for that plan.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I trudged back to the dorms, sketchbook tucked under one arm. Fall was coming down from its radiant peak in rural Massachusetts and the wind was starting to blow chilly, especially in the late evenings. It had been dark for nearly an hour already, which was just depressing.

First quarter had ended a week before. One fourth of my year was finished already, and I still felt like I was running to catch up with the faster-paced people around me.

I was running to catch up to them when they had their own agendas, their own plans, their own goals.

And what was my goal? Was it still academic success? An ivy league school?

My grade's hadn't been stellar. I was used to a 4.0. I was averaging high B's and low A's in most of my classes.

It wasn't good enough.

Was it not good enough because this school was such a clear step-up academically, or because I was so ensnared in the tangled spider-web of three other people who seemed never to answer a single one of my questions?

I had agreed as a survival tool. A built-in set of people who had my back. People to surround myself with, to stop the bullying, to give me the sense that at least I wasn't an alien on this planet of manipulation and adult problems no fifteen or sixteen year old should ever have to consider.

I currently wasn't reaping a single one of those benefits.

I was lost at sea and this plan that was supposed to be a magic cure for me was probably more detrimental than complete isolation from my peers would have been.

Right?

I quietly shut the door behind me and set down my book.

"Oh, you're back. Good. Can you do me a huge favor? Zip me up please?"

I turned and was assaulted by the sight of a fantasy. A shimmering, shining, lip-glossed fantasy designed to entice every male on the planet, no matter their tendencies, preferences, or tastes.

From the tumbled blonde curls gleaming in the overhead light down to the purple stiletto shoes, I was almost blinded by the full-force of one Rosalie Hale dressed to the nines in designer threads and flushing in either excitement or exertion from trying to get her zipper up on her own.

I had always known that The Bronze Dress would bring a man to his knees.

Now the only question was which man was worth all that effort?

"Wow." I didn't sound very impressed, but I figured Rosalie knew that I was being sincere, if a bit jealous. "And where are you off to tonight? Or am I supposed to vacate again so you can make use of my bed?"

Yeah, I was so not over that.

"I told you I was sorry about that."

No she hadn't.

"Anyway, that won't be happening again. And I'm not going anywhere. I have a…math tutorial tonight." She winked at me as we stood in front of the full length mirror staring at her.

Math tutorial my ass.

And just as I was about to ask her about her rather curious math ability, she turned around, _hugged me_, and grabbed her math book.

"I'm late! See you later."

She disappeared.

Well at least she remembered her "prop."

It'd be pretty damning to go to a math tutoring session at 6:30 on a Monday night without your freaking book.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I was downstairs in the hall office using the one landline in the building that you could dial long-distance. I made my monthly phone call home and then hung up, staring at the phone like it would suddenly ring and a caring, warm-hearted mother that I had never experienced would be on the other end, telling me how much she missed me and how sorry she was she had to miss my birthday.

I sighed, hauled myself out of the uncomfortable chair I had been sitting in and gave the house mother on duty a small smile. She nodded back at me as I made my way back up to the fifth floor.

I turned the key and frowned. It was unlocked, and I was positive I had locked it because Rosalie was paranoid about that shit.

She couldn't be back from her little "tutorial" session already, could she? I had been gone a little over a half an hour.

The lights were on in Rosalie's room, but not my own. I wandered over to the partially closed door and pushed it open.

Edward Cullen didn't seem to notice as he was almost bent over in Rosalie's underwear drawer, frantically shoving aside the colorful pieces of fabric, apparently looking for something.

"The fuck are you doing?" I demanded, thinking he was some sort of panty-sniffing perv.

A perv who apparently had a key to our room.

"Alice. Heeyyy." Edward abruptly stood up straight, a pair of blue bikinis in one hand.

"You broke into our room? To steal underwear?" I walked forward to snatch the pair from him, reaching up on my tiptoes.

Woah.

I took a step back.

The smell of whiskey practically assaulted me and I waved a hand in front of my face to clear the stench.

Edward smiled at me, only he was more or less smiling in the general direction of me, as opposed to the way he usually zoomed in on and made me go all tingly and warm.

Boy was drunk.

At quarter past seven on a Monday night.

Classy.

Well if Edward had been hitting the bottle and breaking and entering into our room, he clearly wasn't with Rosalie.

Which left the prick that had all but ignored me this afternoon as the only remaining available prick with which she could be fooling around with.

I would be having déjà vu if it weren't for the drunk panty-stealer standing in front of me, trying to look innocent.

"Alice, shouldn't you be in the library or something?"

"Edward, shouldn't you be expelled for stealing keys, drinking underage, and stealing from other students?"

His eyes tried to narrow but instead they mostly did a crazy lap around his skull before he ran a hand through his hair and propped a hip against Rosalie's open underwear drawer. It closed and he nearly stumbled.

He recovered gracefully.

"Let's play a little game." Edward said smoothly, as though he hadn't just been caught breaking, entering, and drunkenly pilfering Rosalie's room. "I ask a question and you tell me something. Then you ask a question and I'll tell you something."

This did not seem like a game Edward Cullen needed to resort to playing very often. But I took a stab in the dark and assumed he also didn't have to resort to sifting through girl's underwear drawers to get a panty fix either.

Besides, I had the upper hand here for once, right? He was drunk and caught in a very damning position. And to say I had questions would be an extreme understatement. I had _revelations_ needing to be unearthed; and who better than the smelly drunk who managed to make disheveled anarchy appealing?

I eventually nodded and waited.

"Have you and Emmett fucked yet?"

Well, that was just impolite. I clenched my teeth and shook my head. "Have _you_ and Emmett fucked yet?"

Edward's grin widened. He looked like a deranged sex god. "No. That was your question, by the way, facetious though it may have been. What's Emmett waiting for?"

"I don't know. Do _you_ know what he's waiting for?" I asked grudgingly, hating the idea that those two might have discussed this beyond the super-embarrassing coin flip incident.

"No idea, though I wish he'd hurry up. Where's Rosalie right now?"

He had broken in and not known where either of us were? Ballsy boy.

"She said she had a math tutoring session."

"Which means you think she's actually where?"

"One question at a time. Why are you ransacking our room?"

"I'm looking for birth control."

"You're—what? Why!?!"

"My turn. Where is Rosalie actually, do you think?"

"Boffing Emmett. Why are you looking for birth control?"

"Because Rosalie broke one of the cardinal rules."

"Cardinal rules? Can you ever just answer the…oh." I felt like I had been kicked in the stomach. Because Rosalie had been very clear on Edward not having sex with her unless they had…I mean, Edward wanted to see…fuck. Rosalie had a threesome with some girl and she didn't use a condom. Gross.

Mother fucker.

"She's on it. She takes it every morning after brushing her teeth. With cranberry juice." There was no need to mention that she was loaning me her pills until I could afford to make it into Edtin and visit the local Planned Parenthood. How embarrassing.

Edward's face betrayed no relief, no emotion. I was tempted to make a face at him, just to see if that fucking veneer would crack under a surprise attack, but Edward's next question took me by surprise.

"How much do you know about Royce King?"

"Who?"

"Sophomore, black hair, plays sax in the orchestra, thinks he's the next Elvis."

Oh, that kid. "Nothing, except he got pulled out of my fourth hour study hall a couple of days ago and hasn't been back since. Why?"

Shit. I hadn't meant to use that as my question. Edward was drunk---stumbly, bumbly drunk—and still a better manipulator than I was.

"Because Rosalie busted him for selling heroin."

My head snapped up. Edward's eyes were locked on mine and suddenly they seemed a lot less lazily dilated and a lot more hawk-like all of sudden. The green was burning a hole into my head and his eyebrows were drawn together tightly, like a premature hangover was already settling in.

"You're not surprised."

I froze, unsure of what to say or what not to say. He wasn't right exactly, nor was he wrong. Should I tell him to fuck off?

I settled on a very poor evasion tactic. "That's not a question. It's your turn."

"A question huh? You want a question. How's this? How long have you known that Rosalie's been doing heroin? Will that fit the parameters of your perfectly compartmentalized life Alice? Can you answer that for me?"

His anger was practically heating the room. The pair of panties in his fist were clutched tightly, his boyishly tousled locks no longer seemed randomly messy, they seemed tugged at, like his fucking hair was emanating the frustration he was feeling.

All of which was directed at me at the moment.

"She's not. Not anymore. She stopped."

"How the hell would you know? Do you even know the signs of what being high on heroin looks like? Do you?"

"I'd imagine it would look a lot like being drunk—unexplained behavior and anger, dilated pupils. Needle marks."

The panties were clutched less tightly. "You've seen her."

"I helped her. She slipped. Once. I helped. She's not doing it anymore."

Edward's eyes were narrowed. "You helped. I see. And then she took you under her wing. Because she can't have you divulging all her dirty little secrets, can she? She dragged you into this sick little game not because she wanted you to be protected by us, but so that you'd have something to lose just as much as she would. You were clean, now you're not. And should you ever try walk away, Rosalie has a tidy little stack of misdeeds ready to reel you back in." His lips pursed and he nodded his head in deference. "A brilliant plan, truly. I bow down to the mastery of Rosalie, really. She has truly outdone…even me. A feat to be savored I'm sure."

"Oh, you know what Edward? Just shut the hell up with the sarcasm. I don't hear you answering my questions. Questions like, how do _you_ know Rosalie did heroin? How about, what kind of pervert do you need to be to purposely attack Rosalie's self-esteem by manipulating her into sleeping with some random girl while you watch? Or, my personal favorite, if you knew she was doing drugs, why the hell didn't you do anything? I might have been pulled into this stupid little scheme, but it seems to me that you joined quite willingly just to fuck with people, and I don't mean that in the physical sense. So overall, I'd say you and Rosalie _both_ lose at being human beings."

I turned to walk away, but before I got to the door in my room that led to the dorm hallway, an arm wrapped around my waist and hauled me off the floor.

Several inches off the floor. Fuck! Why did people keep doing that?

I kicked backwards and connected with shin, but Edward merely grunted a curse and continued walking back into Rosalie's room, me in tow, wriggling like a landed fish.

I was let go on the bed and long hands pushed me back onto the mattress.

Bony hips weighted me down as he followed me.

I exhaled with a wheeze at the unexpected weight, but it was mostly instinct.

The boy was ridiculously light. I probably could have kicked him off.

Except that he had grabbed my hands and was currently staring at me with this wounded, pissed-off little boy look that made my stomach twist like I was the villain in this ridiculous mess of a story.

So I didn't kick.

I didn't even breathe.

I don't think I was capable.

"I introduced Royce to Rosalie last year because he asked me to. I knew he was selling stuff—hard stuff—and I thought…shit I don't know what I thought. I equally thought it would be funny to see Rosalie Hale find out her boyfriend was getting his money by funding the drugged out population she hates so much and that she'd pull her usual bullshit, stick her nose up in the air at him and make designer earrings out of his balls for daring to approach her holy self.

I confronted her last year. It was late, she was stumbling in the snow. I tried to help her to her room… but her fucking pride! God! She's infuriating! She can't accept help like a normal person! And she's not a total waste of neuron space—she knows better than to get messed up in that shit. So fucking stupid. I told Royce to stay away, but I'm guessing by then she was coming to him on her own. Her fucking pride will bury her someday and believe me, the world will be better off."

I surveyed the anger, the exasperation, even the smallest traces of guilt evident on his beautiful face. I remembered he once told me didn't "do" guilt. Liar.

Beautiful liar.

Guilty liar.

You had to look for it—tucked beneath the burnished locks of his hairline there were creases—factual evidence of emotion coming from the mystery man himself.

"So instead of helping after she rebuffed you, you decided to humiliate her into admitting she needed your help?"

Edward groaned and let his entire weight fall on me. We were nose to nose now, forehead to forehead.

"When Rosalie approached me about this…game, I saw an opportunity. Lots of opportunities actually, but foremost I could keep tabs on her. She looked ah, not right. Like she was wearing more makeup or styling her hair differently to cover up the crap that happens to a body addicted to a drug.

I asked again, about Royce, during the party. When she dragged me off to the bathroom. I had engineered getting her wasted because getting answers from someone like Rosalie Hale is like something akin to wringing blood from a stone. I got her all warmed up and then I asked. She, rather surprisingly, told me to fuck off. I got mad. She can prick my temper like….like nobody else ever has or will. Like I was some kid she was fucking patronizing. She just grabbed my balls, kissed my mouth with those lips of hers and told me to mind my own fucking business."

"So you decided that a threesome would take her down a notch?"

Edward's lips thinned. "Do you play chess?"

"No."

"I'll teach you. You'd be good at it. You've got intuition, this entire fiasco aside. Anyway, the goal of chess is to take the opposing side's king. That's called checkmate."

"So you're trying to embarrass her into submission?"

Edward ignored that question studiously. "The King isn't the most powerful player, in fact he's about as weak as the pawns. Everyone knows that the way to win a game of chess is to take out the other person's queen. The queen has all the power, moves in all directions, and oversees the entire board. She is the king's protector and once she's gone, the game is decidedly lopsided."

"You think she's protecting Royce?"

"I _thought_ she was protecting her secrets, which included Royce. I thought I could at least create a rift between the two of them, and by the two of them I meant Rosalie and her penchant for needles. But if she turned him in and you swear that she's been clean….what the hell is she protecting?"

I nodded to confirm Rose's newly detoxed state and Edward sighed and rolled off of me until we were both staring at the ceiling.

Of all the things I thought I'd be doing with Edward Cullen in my bed (well, ok, Rosalie's bed) this was not it.

A knock sounded at the door and I raised my head. We never had visitors. Especially since Edward was in here with me and Rosalie was over there with Emmett…

I opened the door and stared.

Last week during the football game Emmett had suffered a severely illegal shot when he was already on the ground, helmet nowhere to be seen. One of the Dayton Plains Academy players had literally wrenched him by the face mask to the ground, and when said mask had bounced away in the dirt, landed on him with his elbow.

Emmett's eye had been swollen shut for nearly a week.

He had also been moving like the tin man since then.

Not that I had seen him much, except at lunch. He had even taken to skipping political geo with Rose and me on Mr. Cory's orders to go see the trainer and ice his abused body.

But apparently sex wasn't much of a strain on him, according to Rosalie and The Bronze Dress.

Except that he was standing in front of me, taking up the entire doorway, looking for all the world like a man who was about to collapse due to sheer exhaustion.

And I don't think Rosalie was responsible for that look.

"Hey." I stated, still holding onto the door, staring.

"Hey." Emmett uncomfortably shifted his weight to the other foot. "I came over to apologize for…you know, after practice. Coach reamed us out pretty good about the loss and our playoff chances."

"Not to mention you look like you've been dragged behind an eighteen-wheeler for a couple of days or so."

Emmett shrugged as nonchalantly as he could, but it really just looked like he was a mechanical robot going through some very painful motions. "It's nothing, but I wanted to know if you wanted to watch a movie, rub me down with Icy Hot…Cullen."

I turned around and there was Edward, propped against the doorway to Rosalie's room, arms crossed and eavesdropping on our conversation as he did his best sober impression. At least he wasn't fisting those goddamn panties. "McCarty."

Then there was silence and both boys were looking at me like an incompetent hooker who double booked her appointments.

Well, crap.

Emmett's brows furrowed tightly. "I thought we agreed—"

"We did." Edward cut him off. That's right, you better not let him finish that sentence Edward Cullen, before I decided to give each boy a matching pair of shiners.

"So…is Rosalie here?" Emmett was fishing.

"I was under the impression she was with you actually." Edward said smoothly, coming in to sit on the loveseat.

"Yeah right. Like I could handle that she-cat right now. It's the only reason why I wasn't carried off the field, because I can literally say I've gone a couple of rounds with a tiger and lived to tell the tale."

Edward and I stared at him.

Emmett flushed deep red, probably remembering the strictly "don't ask, don't tell" practice that had been in effect so far.

It made me wonder what he was talking about to his fellow football playing friends, because Emmett the jock was very different from the guy I hung out with.

The guy standing in my doorway was clearly in transition between the two and I didn't like him. Not one friggin' bit.

"What are you and Cullen doing then…in Rose's bed?"

Ok, so he was the last person on the face of the planet who could get persnickety about our choice in beds. And I was about to remind of that fact when Edward slid in again.

Silly boy ruins all my best rants.

"I stopped over to look for something of Rosalie's and Alice was helping me. Besides, if you're all of sudden shy about removing the chastity belt currently locked around your dick, I'd say it's really only fair game that I step in and take one for the team."

Because that wasn't in the least bit insulting to me, thank you Edward.

"Wait your turn Cullen. From what I hear, you've already broken the rules so maybe you shouldn't get a turn at all. Or was that some other public school dyke who I saw trotting up to your room on last Tuesday?"

The threesome had happened last Tuesday? Rosalie hadn't said a word. In fact, she had seemed very much herself, with the exception of perhaps a bit happier.

"I cleared that with Rosalie. In fact she asked to participate."

I choked. Loudly. Arrogant liar.

"No she didn't! You blackmailed her into participating with some stupid notion of getting her to admit to you what her master plan is and probably because you have a seriously demented, depraved desire to see her naked and in your control despite the fact that you think she's shallow, vain, and mercenary. Which I personally think means you like her, but you don't want to like her because you two might as well have been cut from the same cloth. And **you**."

I swung around to face Emmett. "I get that you're all into football and being this big ogre jock-boy, but if you don't drop the caveman act, in front of me and all your jockstrap buddies, that chastity belt Edward accused you of wearing will become a permanent fixture. Now go back to your dorm because you look like you're going to drop over dead any second. Edward can even escort you now that I've set his mind at ease about Rosalie's preferred method of contraception."

I escorted them both out of my room and reviewed the past few hours. I had some new information, some answers about the different players, and one burning question.

If Rosalie wasn't with Emmett, and she wasn't with Edward, who was she with?


	12. What happens to potential deferred?

"_**If I were to wish for anything, I should not wish for wealth and power, but for the passionate sense of **__**potential**__** -- for the eye which, ever young and ardent, sees the possible. Pleasure disappoints; possibility never.**__**"**_

~Soren Kierkegaard

Chapter 12: What happens to potential deferred?

"Alice, I need your help."

It was late Wednesday night and I was crawling into bed when Rosalie appeared in my portion of the suite, also in her pj's.

She sat on the end of my bed and proceeded to play with the edge of my comforter.

"I haven't finished mapping out the American territories either." And since the assignment wasn't due until seventh hour tomorrow, I wasn't planning on doing it until my study hall.

"Oh, no. Not with that. You can look at mine if you want. I need you to do something for me at exactly 10:45 tomorrow morning."

I stuck my notes back in my biology textbook and laid down, kicking Rosalie slightly as I tried to get comfortable. "No."

"No?"

"Not until you tell me where you were Monday night."

There was silence for the briefest, thickest of moments.

"I told you I needed tutoring for math. I can't fail Algebra I again."

"You got dressed up in The Bronze Dress to see some geek from math club and talk about unknown integers?"

"Well, maybe I made a stop on my way to the actual tutoring thing…"

"Really? Emmett or Edward?"

Rosalie stared at me. "I'd say neither with that tone you're taking."

I merely rolled on my back and stared at the ceiling. Rosalie didn't budge.

"You talked to them both?"

"They were here at the same time. Edward was going through your underwear drawer by the way. Looking for birth control since apparently you don't mind having sex without condoms."

"That was a tactical move on my part. He deserved a taste of his own medicine."

I rolled my eyes, not that she could see it.

"So you won't take a detour to the girl's locker room tomorrow morning?"

I shook my head no.

"Because if you would, you'd probably happen upon your ex-roommate and her lesbian girlfriend of nearly eight months."

I couldn't help it. I shot up in my bed. "What?!"

"Claire, who calls everyone a dyke because she's so scared she'll be called one. She's been dating Erica Yorkie forever. But only when no one's looking. Erica's a mass techie for like, plays and musical concerts. She doesn't exactly fit in with Lauren Mallory, Jessica Stanley, and that crowd of Kardashian wannabes."

"How do you know that?"

"I didn't. Not that I cared. Claire was always such an annoying amoeba anyway, though no wonder Erica swings that way. She wears a lot of plaid. Course that's also in fashion right now, so maybe not. I don't know. Daphne told me, you know, her half-sister? She's in their gym class and walked in on them a couple of weeks ago."

"Do you even speak to Daphne?"

"No, but now Mike Newton will. He's Emmett's retard of a roommate, but he's got that puppyish quality about him. Not to mention millions in the bank. Only child. Mass trust fund. Parents own a chain of stores for outdoorsy stuff and he stands to inherit. It's a solid play by Daphne. Favor for a favor, everyone gets something they want. All Emmett has to do is point Mike in the right direction."

"And what do you want me to do once I poke my head in the locker room? Take pictures? Post it on YouTube?"

"Been done. If we do it again and Erica and Claire know it was you, they'll trace the whole Tanya is a pot-smoking hag back to us too. This is much simpler, more straight forward. Blackmail."

"Blackmail. And what if they're in there putting on deodorant and tying their ties?"

"You blackmail them anyway. Say you caught them a couple of weeks ago making out while they were getting dressed. That's how Daph was enlightened to the current situation.

Look, Claire isn't by any means popular. She has a popular half-sister who is, and that allows her a degree of superiority and acceptance, but not friendship. She tags after Lauren and Jessica and they use her for gossip. Claire did this to herself by calling everyone she disliked a homo. She's too insecure about her own damn shit that she went and turned it around on every other person in the school at one time or another. She'll outright panic if you stumble upon them and make some mildly insinuating comments about telling other people who the real lesbian is. Even if we don't have tangible proof, Claire hasn't ever had a boyfriend (go figure) and she's worked extraordinarily hard to be a massive bitch to dozens of people, including her unfortunate siblings. People are just waiting to have a reason to make her a leper. You, of all people, have a reason to make her and her girlfriend prime candidates for public mockery."

"I don't even know who Erica Yorkie is. She's never done anything to me."

Claire had though. Claire had spread a lot of lies, made me an instant outcast, and continued to blab her big mouth about my "extracurricular" activities with Edward and Emmett.

Never mind that that last one was partially true.

Rosalie's smile was wide now and she looked so sinister I kind of wanted to crawl under my blankets until that smile went away.

"Oh yes she did Alice. Technically the directive came from Claire, but Erica played quite the role in your public humiliation."

"Which one?" I asked dryly. There had been so many after all.

Rosalie stared over my shoulder, seemingly behind me, right beneath my ear.

I frowned and fought the urge to turn around. I knew there wasn't anything behind me.

My head swiveled just a little and my hair brushed my chin and ear.

Oh.

My eyes met Rosalie's. I knew I was being pulled under, knew she was manipulating me, knew she had played her trump card into getting herself back into my good graces.

I knew it, but the anger that was choking me at the moment didn't let me care.

It was a damn good trump card to play.

"_She's_ the one who cut off my hair!"

I couldn't remember particulars about her, other than that shocked stupid look on her face as people around us laughed and we both stared at the perfectly braided tail of hair that was lying on the tiled floor. Dark hair, light hair, I didn't know. All I could remember was an open mouthed 'O' and wide eyes.

That bitch and her girlfriend were dead.

And if I'd get expelled for physically beating them bloody, then I'd have to play Rosalie's game.

Blackmail it was.

~*~*~*~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was easier than I imagined.

I asked to go to the bathroom and hurried down to the gymnasium, keeping a careful eye for campus security or administrators walking the grounds. I slipped into the hallway outside the locker rooms and pretended to get a drink while the girls filed out from their showers.

I walked into the long row of lockers and around the rectangle of changing benches.

Nothing, except for two unlocked half lockers and two St. Olaf school uniforms laid out on the benches.

In the back of the locker room I could hear the showers running.

I sat on one of the old wooden benches and crossed one leg over the other, content to wait. I drummed my fingers on my knees and rubbed at the scuff marks on my black shoes.

The bell was going to ring any second and I had already been gone for a solid ten minutes.

And just as I checked my watch, the bells rang loud and clear across the campus, signaling the end of the period.

Crap.

Almost simultaneously I heard two girls laughing and I leaned forward to peek around the lockers.

Two girls with towels in hand were chasing each other back into the changing portion of the room.

"Stop! We're already going to be late." The dark haired girl who was flushed and smiling shoved Claire lightly. "Dr. R is going to kill me."

Claire pushed Erica back, but whatever witty reply she had in mind died as she caught side of my head peering around the lockers.

She shrieked in surprise and one hand went up to her naked chest. Erica immediately yanked her towel around her body.

"Hi Claire. Hello Erica." I said with a smile. "Now I guess I know why there's never any cold water."

Claire stared at me like I was some sort of roach. There was mild horror and disgust in her piggish, unfriendly face, but for the first time there was also fear.

A lot of it.

Erica was shifting from foot to foot, looking between the two of us, though extremely careful to never make eye contact with either. She sat in my math class every day, but I never remembered her saying anything. She had ambiguity written all over her moderately pretty face and her moderately tall frame and her moderately styled hair. It was no wonder I had never even thought of the singular person who had destroyed my hair. I had simply thought of it as an act coming from the entire student body, that they had all done that to me in tandem.

In reality it was the indistinct person standing in front of me, with a death grip on her standard, school-issued white towel.

Claire's mouth was now opening and closing like a guppy. Her hair was beginning to frizz as it dried and her towel was in a heap at her feet. She seemed to be trying to figure out what to say.

"How long have you been in here you little pervert?" Finally came bumbling out of her insipidly stupid mouth.

I raised an eyebrow. "What's so perverted about being in a locker room, changing for gym class? Unless of course you're talking about dropping the soap while sharing a shower stall with someone who is patently _not_ a co-ed?"

Claire's eyes nearly popped out of her head and I could see panicked tears already forming. She would be the type to cry at the first sight of trouble. I didn't feel bad for her.

"I don't…you can't…no!" She took a step forward and for one moment I had visions that she would take a swing at me or try and choke me. But that foot came down in a petulant stomp and the tears started flowing as one hand covered her mouth to muffle the sobs.

Erica was still staring at the floor, focusing on the white towel with the navy school logo. She was silent and worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

"I'm not…we weren't doing anything!"

Ah, denial. I merely smirked. "Right. You haven't been the last two girls out of the locker room for weeks now. And you certainly weren't chasing each other around naked in said locker room."

Claire's sniffles and sobs were louder now. Erica reached over to put her hand on Claire's arm, but Claire wrenched it away with wide eyes. As if she had just realized she was naked, she bent down and grabbed her towel, sidestepping both of us as if were rodents. She began tugging on her clothes quickly, still sniffling.

Erica and I just watched.

Finally she shoved her feet into her Mary Janes and began applying make-up in the mirror, covering up the red blotches on her face.

Her eyes met mine through the mirror and she paused from using her concealer and mascara wand.

"What do you want?"

I fought a smile and instead settled for a casual shrug. Was that ever a loaded question.

"I was thinking how great your hair would look if it was a different color. Black maybe. Maybe with some red highlights, little less 'I-love-Lucy' red, more 'fire engine' to start with."

Claire's fingers tightened around the tube of mascara and her lips disappeared altogether as she pressed them tightly. She ever so slightly nodded and whipped out of the locker room.

She understood perfectly.

I turned to Erica, who was watching me nervously. I smiled.

"Has anyone ever told you not to play with scissors?" I asked as pleasantly as possible. "No? Well consider yourself told. Have a lovely day."

I gave her a finger wave and spun out of the locker room.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I was called into the office during sixth period geometry. Dean Regan motioned for me to come in when I knocked.

"Miss Brandon, it says here you left your fourth hour study hall to go to the bathroom with ten minutes remaining in class and never returned."

I hadn't thought my study hall teacher would even notice. I grimaced, not even bothering with an innocent face. I was well and truly caught, and I wasn't about to pretend in front of Dean Regan that I was having "womanly troubles." Too many girls nowadays relied on that excuse just to creep out the male teachers so they could spend the majority of class in the bathrooms, or wandering the halls.

Besides, Dean Regan had done me a huge favor after the hair debacle, and I wasn't about to lie to someone that had been on my side before I teamed up with Rosalie, Emmett, and Edward.

"Sorry sir." I mumbled, looking down at my hands.

"No excuses Miss Brandon? It seems to me all you would have to do is tell your friend Mr. Cullen that you needed a pass out of class and he could have easily procured one for you."

My head snapped up and I saw the Dean's eyes twinkling ever so slightly. "You think I am unaware that Mr. Cullen is entirely too charming and clever for his own good, or that the secretaries have a very fond spot for him, particularly in the way of making tardies and unexcused absences disappear?"

Wow. Edward really was talented if he could flaunt his disregard for rules in front of Dean Regan and still not get punished. Not to mention, how did he know Edward and I were friends of sorts?

"No sir, I knew what I was doing. I don't need anyone stepping in for me." Especially since it was well worth whatever punishment he might dole out.

"The rulebook clearly stated truancy calls for the student to make up the class he or she missed with an early detention. Seven o' clock in the library Monday morning. It's a silent detention, so bring homework. This will be recorded in your file Miss Brandon."

I nodded and started to rise.

"Miss Brandon."

I paused and the Dean motioned for me to sit back down. I did so and waited in suspense. The Dean was obviously a very observant man. What else had he heard about me?

"I'm happy to see you've found yourself a group of friends Alice. Your first quarter grades were quite good."

I made a pained noise in the back of my throat and he shook his head at me. "They were. It usually takes new students a semester to adjust to the new pacing. I predict that by the end of this term, you'll have the rhythm of our school. I merely wanted to ask if there was anything I could do to be of assistance to you. I would very much like to see you succeed here at St. Olaf's. Not a lot of our Outreach scholars ever feel truly comfortable and many leave. You have the potential to not only succeed here, but at a top-rate university anywhere in the nation. Just something I thought you might want to keep in mind."

I nodded, not really hearing the words, only the typical schpeal of an administrator who was encouraging a kid to stay on the "right" path.

I left the office and headed back to class not thinking about my so-called potential and definitely not thinking about my morning threat and the subsequent humiliation I was having her go through.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The day of my 16th birthday coincided with the final football game that would decide whether or not St. Olaf's would be making it to the next round of the state championship tournament.

A lot needed to happen to make that dream a reality.

We needed to win on a field that was not our home turf.

The weather needed to clear up to allow the team to play on something at least resembling a large patch of grass and not a mud hole.

Emmett needed a good night's sleep instead of a forty-right minute nap during seventh period political geography.

All of those factors looked highly unlikely as the rain consistently beat down on over our tense heads well into the afternoon.

A small crowd with umbrellas gathered to send the players off on their buses. I watched from my window as the guys filed in with their pads and helmets tossed over their shoulders, assuring their small but faithful crowd of increasingly damp fans that victory was assured.

And if it wasn't, it would be the first time in nearly a decade since Olaf's didn't make the post-season cut.

I had tried to find some time to talk to Emmett in the last few days, finally succeeding last night when I got frustrated with his roommate (who warily blocked the door every time I knocked) and wandered down to the weight room.

Emmett was doing pull-ups like a mad man, his face flushed and dripping with streams of sweat stemming from his hairline. His t-shirt was drenched and he was audibly grunting with the effort to pull himself back up with every rep.

He finally came down on his feet and forced out a grim smile at me. The wet t-shirt was pulled off and he reached into his gym bag for a dry one. I was sad to see all those glorious, bulging muscles disappear, but in the long run it was probably better not to be distracted by his nakedness.

I wanted to talk to him about Rosalie, Claire and the blackmailing, my birthday, the fact that he hadn't touched me in two weeks.

"Aren't you supposed to take it easy the night before a big game?"

Emmett shrugged and wiped away some sweat with his forearm. "Won't be able to sleep anyway, so it doesn't matter. What brings you down here so late?"

It was after eleven. "Wanted to see you. You apparently aren't ever in your room."

Emmett's forced smile was back in place. "Gets a little claustrophobic in there. Been going for a lot of runs. Team meetings. We're playing MFL-Kinslow tomorrow, they're really good."

I nodded mutely. I couldn't quite figure out how to bring up all these trivial little topics, the least of which involved me whining about how he didn't spend enough time with me.

He was a focused, talented guy who was hoping to play at a collegiate level someday. Of course his brain could shift from sex to football for a couple of weeks each year. I was selfish and stupid to even think he would have the time (or the interest) in hearing about how Claire's hair would be an uglier version of mine tomorrow.

It was petty and childish and I was instantly embarrassed.

"Wanted to wish you good luck. I'll be there watching you beat up everyone in sight."

The smile was slightly more genuine as he reached down, careful not to touch me in any way with his sweaty lips, other than to swiftly kiss me and pull back.

"Goodnight Alice."

He didn't even ask to walk me back to my dorm. I was dismissed and he headed for the showers. End of interlude.

I tried to shrug that off. After all, he wasn't running to Rosalie or anyone else. He was just really stressed out about the game.

The game which turned out to be a landslide.

A landslide that buried St. Olaf and her eight-year run of playoffs under a tide of blue and orange fans and mud.

It was 35 to 3 at halftime.

And still raining.

I had boarded one of those buses to MFL-Kinslow all by myself. Both Rosalie and Edward, who had both promised to attend and support Emmett, were nowhere to be found. I called both of their cell phones. Nothing. I checked our dorm, no sign of Rose. I checked the piano hall, no Edward. I walked around campus until the final bus was getting ready to leave and I went to see Emmett play all by myself.

People gave me a lot of leeway. I had a row to myself as I stared out the window and pretended to not hear people talking about Claire's new "hairstyle."

I was the only one on the entire campus with hair like that, which meant Claire DeLane, of the infamous Delane family tree, had switched her Lucy-like red bush of curls for a black dye job with red highlights in the hopes of emulating _me_. The blue collar outcast. The alligator lady.

I studiously ignored them, inwardly smirking. And when we had all filed to the visitor's side of the football field, I found myself for the first time amongst the study body, literally shoulder to shoulder with them, but still separate.

I would always be separate.

By halftime it was a lost cause and I was lonely, cold, and very, very wet. One of the buses was taking a handful of students back and I quickly hopped on, before I could guilt myself into watching the second half.

It's not like Emmett would ever really want anyone to remember that he played in such a disaster.

I sat by myself towards the back of the bus, not bothering to watch the streetlights go by in a blur of yellowing orange. My thoughts were more centered on Rosalie and Edward. Where were they?

"Not waiting around for your honey? Soothe his wounds, give him a little pick me up? You know, after I lose a match in the ring I always get this one itch, really it's just this crazy gotta have me a blowjob right now feeling. One good blowjob can make all the difference. I'd imagine that logic is pretty sound with every guy on the face of the planet, unless they have some weird germaphobic fear of getting their dick licked."

I turned on a hiss. Could he have _been_ any louder? The entire bus (all six of us) was looking around for the source of that slow drawl.

Jax was sitting in the very back seat.

"Come back here and sit. It's no fun if I can't see you get all riled up and pinched-looking angel-face."

I flipped him off and turned back to face forward at the ugly pattern on the seats. Who has a charter bus to take students from point A to point B anyway? What's wrong with a plain old big yellow school bus?

"Are you still upset about our one magical night together Brandon? Because I know I told you it was a mistake, but if Cullen and McCarty aren't manning up to meet your incredibly kinky expectat—shit! Ow! Mother fucker!"

I smacked him across the head as I practically tripped over myself in time to get back there and make him shut the hell up.

Was there anyone in this school who didn't use manipulative tactics like they were oxygen?

I slumped in the seat across the aisle from him muttering "asshole" not so quietly under my breath.

We passed a streetlight and in the quick flash of light I could see a figure slumped against Jackson, clearly passed out, mouth open as she slept the sleep of the incredibly drunk.

I pointed a finger at the broad and then poked him with it.

He merely shrugged and settled back in his seat, not caring if he jostled the figure using his body as a pillow.

"Too much vodka. Passed out in the first quarter. Hard to keep warm and all in this weather. Ruined my plans for the second half."

I snorted. "I'm sure it did."

"You could always make it up to me."

"I'd need a hazmat suit before willingly going anywhere your contaminated penis."

There was a good six seconds of silence. Then Jax very nearly growled at me.

"Shit angel. You keep talking like that and I'll pop off one of my buttons. How come you won't go out with me?"

"Besides the fact that you are the definition of 'wannabe pimp' or that your idea of going out is to get me drunk enough to lay under you while you thrust like a beached whale on top of me?"

"Ok, point." I could feel his grin washing over me, loosening the frown I was trying so hard to hang onto. "But it's always a good time. And you're already messing around with Cullen and McCarty, so don't put your nose in the air about sleeping with someone who sleeps around. Cause now that's _you_ honey."

I stayed quiet. I had been secretly keeping a running list of comebacks for anyone who would be so bold as to inquire into the situation with the four of us or worse, make some skanky comment about it. Now was the prime opportunity to tell him where he could go, but my mouth refused to make any of the words necessary. I just sat there and took it.

Because it was (partially) true.

And because I was getting told by a man-whore, that I was a man-whore. As in I was sleeping (or I shortly would be now that football season was over) with two boys, not that I was a man.

It shouldn't have bothered me. I knew this was going to happen.

But Christ on a crutch! Did it have to be Jackson Whitlock who had to run his mouth about it?

"Did you pass out on me too?" His tone was teasing, but I heard the slight edge of worry in his tone. He knew he had stepped over the line of our usual half antagonizing, half sexual banter.

I sought to ignore his comments and set things on their usual path.

"Does that happen to you a lot?" I coughed to clear my throat.

This time Jackson was the one flipping me the bird and his freshman skank shifted and mumbled something.

Jackson rolled his eyes. "She's worthless. And she better not drool on this shirt."

"You should have been watching how much she drank."

"Why? She purposely gives off this vibe that's she's seen it all. The booze, the drugs, the sex. I popped that cherry and it was like those rides outside of the supermarket you used to beg your mom for quarters for. Like, an airplane or a horse? It's a two minute ride in which you repeat the exact same motion and once you get off you realize it really wasn't that great at all."

I was floored. Literally stunned nearly into speechlessness.

"Jackson Whitlock, did you just use a simile correctly?"

"Yeah well, they don't take complete idiots at Boston College."

"_You_ got into Boston?" I gaped, knowing that it wasn't exactly flattering. Especially since we both knew I thought it was because he was rich.

"More than just a pretty face and a hard cock sweetheart."

God, if only that were true.

The bus came to a stop at the school gates and I practically ran off the bus, not caring that it was still raining.

I had just made it past the iron gates of the school when I heard him.

"Angel-face!"

He was walking toward me with the freshman in his arms, head completely unsupported and bobbing wildly with every step he took.

"Got a question for you." He said when he caught up, squinting as the rain pelted him in the face and soaked his eyelashes and his hair. Somewhere in the back of my mind I was cataloging how his wet jeans clung and how some people should be forced to walk around dripping wet for the public's enjoyment.

Jax would definitely be one of those people.

"What?"

"Would sleeping with me be like the worst thing ever? Worse than starving children in Nambia and three-legged puppies and Xanadu?"

Chocolate eyes didn't waver as I took in the rain and the wind and the smell of pine and mud and earthworms around us. His arms didn't so much as twitch with the weight of his drunken burden, whom he would probably strip naked and have sex with, even if the girl was unconscious. Droplets of water ran down his slightly crooked nose, which crinkled under the sheer force of his smile, which was aimed at me. Expecting an answer.

I took a step back and turned in the direction of my dorm room and warm clothes. I glanced back at him, with that slutty long-limbed bundle in his arms, still waiting.

"Nope, not worse than Xanadu."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I had all the intentions in the world of going back to by room, getting out of my wet clothes, taking a scalding hot shower and watching some TV in bed.

I had all those intentions, but one predominant emotion derailed said good intentions.

I was fucking turned on and it was all one wet cowboy's fault.

And the window of our room was dark. Rosalie still wasn't home.

So I went in search of Edward.

I had no idea what his dorm number was, so I began with the music hall. I checked the band room, his practice room, and the choir room just in case.

No Edward.

I sighed and was about to give up when I heard sound coming from down the hall as I made my way to first floor to leave.

It was a record playing, old jazz, just like we used to play at home during the summer nights.

I had found him. I knew it before I ever saw him.

No one else would be listening to that in the teacher's lounge on a Friday night.

I knocked on the locked door and the music abruptly cut off.

Edward opened the door just a crack, a puzzled frown marring his face, which eased when he saw that it was me.

"You're all wet. Where were…the football game."

"The football game you promised to go to with me."

"Rosalie was there."

"Actually she wasn't. She pulled a Houdini again this afternoon. I had to watch our poor team get slaughtered in the rain by my lonesome."

"We really need to figure out where Rosalie keeps slipping off to."

That's what his mouth said.

His eyes were on my very hard nipples, which were very visible against my soaked St. Olaf's Academy shirt.

They said something else entirely. I just couldn't read what. But the message wasn't PG rated.

I pushed past him into the teacher's lounge. "Do the professors know you sneak in and listen to their records?"

Edward gave me a look that said I should know better than to ask. He was a man with many a secret and he was taking them to the grave.

"Why didn't you meet me?"

"I…I had a bad day."

"Yeah?"

"Yes. Bella…she's-she and I—"

"She's the number three in your little three-way with Rosalie." I supplied. He grimaced.

"We had…have had an arrangement of sorts. She's not happy that I'm now in another arrangement that explicitly states she isn't supposed to exist."

So he _had_ been breaking the rules. Rosalie would be furious. But was it breaking the rules if he had only had sex with one of us once? I mean, with the exception of the threesome, he wasn't getting any action. So did he have to follow the rules?

I personally voted yes.

"You tried to break it off with her?"

"Not exactly. Put on hold, more or less."

Of course. Always had to have some poon on standby, just in case.

"And she doesn't want to be your back-up piece of ass?"

Edward gave me a look. Completely unreadable. His face muscles must twitch when no one's around from disuse.

"She doesn't understand why I agreed to this in the first place. She thinks I'll forget her altogether."

"That would be tragic." I mocked, plopping down on the couch next to his lanky frame and cringing when my wet clothes made a kind of suctioning sound to my skin. Eeeww.

"So we lost?"

"I left at halftime. But yes, we are going to lose. Which, on the bright side, should result in an Emmett who is pouty and grumpy, but at least will be around."

"Still no sex huh?"

"Do I look sexed to you?" I snapped.

"Actually…you do. Your hair is all tangled because of the wind, and it's sticking to your forehead. Your clothes are going to be wrinkled and gross when they dry and your cheeks are bright red. All that's missing is…"

He leaned over and kissed me, nibbling at my bottom lip and cupping the back of my head to keep my still as he worked over my mouth until I was completely at his mercy. My head tilted back and I let his tongue flicker into my mouth.

He pulled back and tugged at my lower lip. A familiar gesture. "Now you looked sexed. It's all in the swollen red lips."

I sank back into my couch cushion and stared straight ahead at the wall, mouth still hanging open stupidly.

Jax, Emmett, Edward. Did I even care who was doing the kissing? Was I that uncaring about who it was kissing me that it was an interchangeable process? Whoever was available and willing to pay attention to me was allowed to mack on me? Or was it merely that I had three delectably gorgeous men willing to kiss me? Was I a gluttonous fool who was heading for a reality check? Wouldn't it be right—morally and normally speaking—to pick one guy to give all my kisses to? All my firsts? Wasn't it extremely dirty and sinful to be fooling around like I was, with two guys, possibly three if Jackson could ever manage to keep his hurtful barbs to himself?

Where were my morals? Where was my conscience? Why didn't I care that I was blackmailing, plotting, manipulating and sleeping around? Why didn't I care even the tiniest little bit?

Why did I feel like I was running on adrenaline? Why wasn't I horrified at myself for being this person. I didn't know this person. Who was she? What was she going to do next?

And why didn't I care?

"Hey." A hand came behind me and wedged itself between the cushion and my spine. It rested at the base of my back, the contact bringing me back to the present.

"Hey."

"Did you also have a bad day?"

No, I wasn't having a bad day. I was having a bad _birth_day. That was infinitely worse.

Edward dipped his head to kiss me again, lightly.

This time I was the one to push. My hands fisted in his hair and fought back a giggle over how much product I could feel in it. My tongue darted between his lips and my teeth nipped at his lips. I tugged him over me, until he was on top of me and I was lying down on the couch in the teacher's lounge in the music hall.

One of his hands was around my back, trapped between me and the couch cushion. The other was gripping my hip tightly, urging one leg around him.

We fused together via our lips, tongues, and teeth. His clothes were getting damp, but mine were suddenly feeling much warmer. There were no pesky thoughts now, only lusty images of having sex right here, right now. Who cared that Emmett had claimed dibs. It was my body and my choice.

It's not like Edward would stop me if I asked him for sex. He was more than capable of making me perfectly blank with sexual pleasure. That's all I wanted. To be blanked out by the waves of a really good fuck.

And that's when I pushed him off of me.

With a muffled curse he rolled to the ground, catching himself for a second on his hand before the weight of his body caused him to crumple.

He looked at me like I was insane and I just stared back.

I was starting to feel insane. Like I was a cracked egg whose crack was only getting bigger and more complex.

Still. Let's look at the cold, hard facts.

My sixteenth birthday was a complete and utter failure.

Emmett was ignoring me which bruised my self-esteem and made me all sorts of paranoid.

Jackson got me all twitchy and horny so I decided to go find Edward as a substitute player for Jackson, who was already a substitute for Emmett.

I had purposely done something cruel and was planning on using the blackmail in the future to ensure Claire never said another nasty word about me again.

And finally, the cherry-topping to my banana split sundae:

I wanted to have sex so I could feel blank.

That was a flashing red warning sign if I had ever heard one.

I needed to sort some shit out. Not sex it out.

Damn it.

"Alice." Edward was still waiting for an explanation.

"I wanted to use you for sex, only it wasn't really you I wanted. I don't really know what I want, except for all the stupid, overly-sexed, completely messed up thoughts in my head to just…go away. So I was using you for sex."

Edward stared at me. I stared back.

"You do realize I'm okay with that, right?"

I smiled tiredly at him, recognizing a joke when I heard it. I buried my face in my hands and allowed myself a tired, slightly hysterical laugh.

"Alice."

My wrists were in his hands. He was on his knees on the floor in front of the couch, eye level with me.

"Alice."

I shifted my gaze to him.

"I think we can both agree it's been a shit day all around. So let's get you home and warm and you can tell me whatever it is that's going through that completely too observant head of yours."

I smiled. "Do you mind if I tell you tomorrow? I think I'll just head back by myself. Less temptation to drag you into a room where there are actual beds and not couches that actually repel people from sitting on them."

I shifted on the couch to make my point.

Edward didn't like the idea of my walking back alone, I could see it. But he could probably see the determined set of my face as well and so he sighed in defeat.

"Alright. But here." He pressed something warm and metal into my hand. "Take this so you can always find me, any time day or night. It will open just about any door to any building on campus."

One of his stolen master keys. I now belonged to that privileged group that had no restrictions placed on where I could go or when I could go. A key with unlimited potential for trouble-making and escaping. Or hiding.

"Be safe. Don't run into any of those jocks who spend the football game seeing how much liquor they can sneak from a flask."

"I won't." Again.

"Goodnight Alice. I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Goodnight….hey Edward?"

Edward was ready to put the needle back to his record. "Yes?"

"I'm not going to sleep with you until you drop the other girl. We're in this together, we all play by the rules all of the time, not when you feel like it. No outsiders allowed."

Edward ran a hand through his hair and that hand came to rest on the back of his neck. He nodded ever so slightly. "Alright. I suppose that's fair."

I nodded back at him and shut the door behind me as I left.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I was nearing Whitlock, bypassing the halls that housed my daily art class, my political geography class, and my math class. No one was about yet, which meant everyone must still be at the game, which should be ending very shortly, if it hadn't already.

I was careful to keep my thoughts neutral and easy as I noted the shadows all around me and the bright moon partially covered by clouds. It was definitely a Halloween type setting and a piss-poor night to be wandering through a deserted school campus. Especially if you had turned sixteen today.

We never really celebrated birthdays back home either. I should probably just start pretending October 30th was just any other day. But if I ever had the chance, had the money and the friends and lifestyle, I would choose to celebrate birthdays like they were Christmas or weddings or carnivals. I would make a big deal out of it just because some days it's just nice to feel special, or make other people feel special.

I sighed at my own melancholy thoughts and ran a hand over my face, a little disgusted by myself today. My moods were swinging like a pendulum, because I was in limbo. I had all the opportunity in the world at this school, but it was my choice, my decision, on how to make the most of it.

I heard the creak of a door and then two hushed voices murmuring. I looked to my right and squinted in the darkness at the front steps of the math building. The Kessler building was huge and looming, creating big shadows, perfect for hiding a little outdoor loving, although I wondered who was stupid enough to be meeting up outside in this weather?

I stepped off the path and ventured a little closer, because I'm a curious girl and part of me was thinking about how I could use this information to my advantage.

In the dark I could see two figures intertwined, creating one meshed person with too many limbs. I squinted some more and a familiar frame and wave of blonde hair became instantly recognizable.

My mouth dropped open as I recognized the person Rosalie was kissing. It stayed dropped as his hands wandered all over her ass while she molded herself to his body like a second, much sexier skin.

Everything, _**EVERYTHING**_ I had thought I had known up to this point tipped on its axis and then imploded.


	13. Wicked Game

**A/N: I know I don't usually do this, but I have something important to say this time around!**

**Go nominate some excellent ficcage over at the ****Eddies and Bellies! **** I'm a judge, so I'm not eligible for the Eddies, but there are a ton of wonderful authors who deserve to be recognized for their hard work in keeping you supplied with late night insomnia material!**

**Nominating goes until the 25th so get to hopping!**

**Also, enjoy the chapter and thanks to all the people who have reviewed! I've been a shit about getting back to some of you, but I do appreciate all the love.**

"_**Nature has a funny way of **__**breaking**__** what does not bend"**_

**Chapter 13: Wicked Game**

I was being kissed in a way that no sixteen or seventeen year old boy could ever hope to manage. My mouth, my body, everything I had was at his disposal. Everything about this kiss took me one step further away from the hellish, manipulative, deceitful world I lived in and lessened the knot of guilt in my stomach until it was almost like Rosalie the girl who had gotten herself into so much trouble, simply didn't exist.

All there was left was this girl who was sitting on his lap, dying to be left alone with this man, forever. Wrapped up in this kiss, where this man's mouth completely ruled over me. Where his hands played my body and molded me into someone I thought I recognized from a long time ago. A girl that didn't need to lie, a girl that didn't need to impress, a girl that had to have fake teeth put in when her two front teeth were knocked out in a high-stakes game of soccer.

And then his hands would shift, knotting into my hair, pressing me harder against his mouth and I would mewl and grip his jaw bone with my fingertips, trying to express my thanks for this reprieve. For this mirage that made me feel like a human being again.

His hands were pushing up the hem of my completely inappropriate charcoal sheen satin dress up my thighs as I straddled his body, every possible inch of which I tried to touch with my own. My chest was pressed up against his navy sweater; the white collar of his shirt had been mussed as I pressed my fingers beneath the starched white material, searching for skin. My hands were currently entwined with his, because I had previously been trying to tug the white button-up out of his pants so I could get my hands beneath and touch skin. I wriggled until I was no longer sitting on my dress and could feel the soft corduroy of his pants, the ridge of his erection on my inner thigh, but every time I moved, wanting to feel it, his hands would still on my hips and push me further back on his lap. All I wanted was to feel him there, where I wanted him most, but for once in my life words escaped me. All I could do was fight back sobs as I tried desperately to wriggle just a tiny bit closer, to tuck myself into his chest, into his body and breathe just a little easier.

The world was on fire and nobody could save me but him.

All the other boys were ruled by their dicks. This man was ruled by his brain, by his common sense and his principles.

I eventually would wiggle closer through simple desperation; I couldn't help myself. I needed him to keep my brain blissfully blank, blissfully warm and happy. To squash the needy, breathless part of me that was panicking while simultaneously reveling in how every single heartbeat was like a tidal wave extending through every limb, vein, and fingertip of my body.

I was Rosalie Hale. I didn't do warm and happy. I didn't do weak or needy.

Except for this man. Except for _this_ man.

What a wicked game to play, to make me feel this way.

The way my stomach would clench, the way my lungs seized and burned, the way my head pounded and the way my eyes watered—it was hell wrapped in some masochistic paradise that I didn't believe in.

I reached for his glasses and plucked them off of his face. He only ever used them to read or correct messy, imperfect math homework, but he was always wearing them when he was teaching. He would look over the top of them to see his students, before glancing back down at the text book in front of him as we trudged onto the next problem. He took them off to clean them occasionally as his long legs travelled the length of the classroom to check on us as we reluctantly did the assigned work.

I wondered if he wore them at home, when he was cooking supper or watching TV in his bed before he went to sleep each night. I wondered if he put them on at breakfast to glance at the newspaper. I wondered what he ate for breakfast. Museli? Coffee and toast? A power bar?

His home was probably meticulous. He was meticulous. Every day in either a dress shirt and tie, or a sweater over a collared shirt. The creases in his pants were straight and there were no wrinkles to be seen. His shoes were never scuffed. He was always fresh-shaven and smelling of soap that didn't come from dispenser in the boys shower stalls.

All of these thoughts wormed their way into my brain until they were on a constant loop. Did he sleep with lots of pillows to make up for the extra space in his bed? What kind of music did he put on when he was planning to invite a girl upstairs after a date filled with wine, fine food, and even finer conversation? Did he lay them down on his bed and turn out the lights? Did he light candles in the tub? Did he lose that cool, measured rationale and tug at clothes until she was just naked enough to take him all?

I was now riding his trouser-covered erection, his hands under my flimsy dress and splayed over my ass as he moved me just how he wanted. Slowly, so I could feel every inch and hard curve against my cunt. Up and down, watching me with midnight blue eyes as I tried to catch my stuttering breath and wrest back some form of control.

It's strange what desire will make foolish people do.

The head of his cock pressed against the thin satin triangle covering me and I cried out, one hand clenching in his hair roughly and he hissed. His hand came up to pull at my wrist firmly until I reluctantly let go of the gold strands in my grip. He held my wrist between us, and I looked at his face—the face of a man who could see the plea in my eyes, could hear the hitch in my breath.

He smirked at me and placed a quick kiss on the back of my curled hand.

He kept my hand there, curled in a tight fist as his hips lifted off the chair and his remaining free hand pressed at the small of my back, tucking me close as he thrust against me and the tears finally fell free, even as I tilted my head back so he couldn't see them roll down my flushed cheeks.

I wanted to claw at the pressure in my chest, in each of my bones, at my core. Dig in my nails and let myself feel the pain, if only because it would relieve the pressure of anticipation.

I could die on this ledge if he didn't push me over, didn't fall into the void with me.

"Please." I whispered, head still tipped back as his fingers ran up my side and came to rest on the underside of my breast. A thumb rubbed firmly at my nipple until I shuddered and it stood proudly out, visible even beneath the dark gray fabric. "Carlisle."

"Shh." He murmured and my hips jerked impatiently. I heard his steady, low chuckle as my wrist was released.

Light, lazy patterns and caresses began on my thigh and I rocked harder, wishing futilely that he would hurry.

That tonight would be the night when his control was less than stunningly, exquisitely perfect.

His fingers pressed at the small hollow where my leg met my pelvis and slid down as I shook, following the line of my thong, toying with the edge, until I could feel the heat of his fingers there, but he wasn't touching me.

I was frozen, fingers curled into his shoulders, chest heaving, toes numb and hanging over his thighs, desperately trying to escapes from my own skin.

His thumb trailed over the damp material, down until he pressed right on my clit and I jerked. Violently.

"Shhh." He soothed, but his fingers did not stop. They continued their journey over my cunt, stopping at the entrance to my body and pressing in. Through the fabric of the thong, through the black satin and into my body, his two fingers pressed and rubbed.

"N-no, please. Inside." I whispered, my head curling into the crook of his neck and shoulder as my body was wracked with goose bumps, and chills of oh-shit-so-good, and just a thin slice of desperation at being denied that only heightened the edge he was riding me on.

I didn't even get to see his lazy, beautiful smile as I broke in his arms, pleading and giving up control and clenching my fists so tight I would have crescent shaped marks in my palms for twenty-four hours afterwards. My face was buried in the cashmere of his sweater as his fingers curled around the fabric of my underwear and pulled it aside.

Two fingers plunged into me and my body bowed backwards, my fingers fought to keep a hold of him. My hips bore down until my muscles protested with shooting pains in my thighs and stomach as his fingers pressed upward, as my body moved with and against him at the same time.

His thumb merely had to press against me and my body finally conceded to the torture I had been enduring. I choked on air as I clenched hard around his fingers and my tear-streamed eyelids opened just enough to see him watching me, to see his eyes watching my body dance and spasm for him, to feel his hands mold me until I was melted against him, draped across him in every possible way, until I was nearly mindless and still shaking.

I laid on top of him, his fingers still sunk inside of me, occasionally twitching and causing me to cry out mutely as my lips moved against his neck.

His fingers eventually began to move and I panicked. "No, don't." I pleaded, my limbs too lifeless to move, to squeeze, to keep him there. His fingers pulled out of me, coated in sticky, white goo.

My eyes lazily focused as he licked his index finger slowly and my body clenched in response, a response he could feel everywhere I was so sunken into his limbs.

I stopped him before he moved onto his middle finger and slowly licked around the base of his knuckle, before sucking the entire finger into my mouth, licking myself off of him.

Beneath me his cock twitched and I groaned as my body reacted and centered itself fully over him.

My hand traveled to his belt and then further, finding the hard bulge there and the zipper pressing into my sensitive flesh.

His hand caught mine just as his arm slid me to the side of his body. He shifted me to his side and spread his legs apart. He tucked my hand into his side and undid his buckle and fly all by himself as I watched. Watched as his cock sprung free, precum already leaking at the rounded head, as his balls drew up tightly to his body, as the tails of his button-up shirt framed his erection perfectly.

I wanted to reach out, but my hands were still tucked into his side, the message clear. Don't touch.

His fingers splayed into the base of my skull, twining around my hair, pulling me to his mouth as I let him in, let him have whatever he wanted. Let my tongue twine with his, let him nibble at my bottom lip, let him play this wicked game with me as long as he pleased.

"On your knees Rosalie."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The standard school room circle clock with its red, perpetually ticking second hand was telling me it was past time to be home, faking a cold. I had promised Alice after all, even though I knew I had no intention of going.

I slipped on my heels and ignored the clock, turning to look at the man who was sitting in the chair I had just blown him in, looking only slightly rumpled but still perfect, looking over my math homework.

"I'll never understand why you chose to purposely fail my class last year. You went from a ninety-eight percent to barely a sixty in the span of three months. Couldn't you have chosen a less drastic way to try and seduce me?"

Carlisle was looking at me over the rim of his glasses again. I was sitting on his desk, strapping on my open toes, legs crossed like a lady as I shrugged at him.

He shook his head at me and went back to perusing my paper.

"On number sixteen each of those definitions has a co-function on only one side of the equation, so you won't be tempted to think that _sec_ A equals 1/_sin_ A. And secant and cosecant go together just like sine and cosine, so you won't be tempted to think that _cot_ A equals 1/_sin_ A."

He was jotting down notes in pen in the margins as I watched upside down and nodded along. I grabbed the paper out of his hand, fixed my trig calculations so I could set it up on my calculator when I got back to my dorm and handed it back to him. His eyebrows went up sharply, but he nodded and went back to skimming my otherwise perfectly correct paper.

"You're doing math at an entry college level Rosalie, that will be hard to explain when your college gets your transcripts and sees you failed freshman algebra."

I shrugged. "That's what money is for. Besides, you can tutor me into Harvard or Darthmouth or where ever the hell my daddy thinks I should go just like you tutored Tanya Denali."

Carlisle's eyes darkened as he set down the paper. "Tanya Denali will go to a top five school, get a degree in political science and then become a trophy wife with three perfect brats running around a perfectly manicured lawn in the Hamptons. You, however, have the ambition to go places if you would stop making poor choices."

"Is that why you won't fuck me? Because I made a bad choice after seeing her suck you off last spring? Even though you had already told me you didn't do that with students? Because I failed a class and have to spend the entire semester repeating everything I already know? Because last year it was all about my age, but now I'm sixteen and yet there's another reason standing in my way."

"Sixteen doesn't mean you've reached the maturity level to be having sex. Your choices last year and this year clearly show that."

"I failed a math class, big fucking deal!"

"You did not just fail a math class!" Suddenly he was standing, pulling my legs apart and standing between them, his eyes furious and on mine. The standard teacher-glare was there, and I fought not to squirm under his gaze, because his eyes held more than teacherly disappointment.

"You were so hell-bent on proving to me last year that you were capable of handling yourself last year that you got yourself addicted to a substance that could have killed you. You showed up at my house at three am and begged me to sleep with you. When I refused you went out and you started fucking your dealer, never mind that he was so out of it that you'd show up to class with bruises and hickeys and raw marks on your skin because he was too fucked up to take care of you. And you show up this year to the welcoming banquet and try and proposition me in front of the school administration! You've made bad choices Rosalie. Learn to live with them."

He looked disgusted with himself temporarily, like he wanted to pull away, but his hands gripped me even more firmly and I felt my stomach flutter as I held on to him in whatever way I could manage.

"I'm not messed up like that anymore. I haven't touched any smack in months. I turned Royce in last week for selling. I don't hang out with people who expect me to be someone I'm not. I'm acing all the trigonometry and geometry and pre-calculus you can throw at me. I know what I want. Now tell me how to get it."

Carlisle's eyes softened slightly at the corners as he reached up to tip my chin up and kiss the side of my neck lightly, lingering there.

"I should have left you alone when I realized what you wanted last year."

My hand in his belt loops prevented him from moving away when he otherwise would have.

"You couldn't have, even if you wanted to."

That was the truth. From the first day I had sat in his class, I had been planning how to get in his bed. They were fantasies for over a semester, until I had stopped by his room one day to ask him to "help" me with a problem and caught an eyeful of Tanya Denali with her head in his lap.

Since then, it just been a matter of time until I found the right way to push his much vaunted control too far. And I had been relentless.

No man could have survived. Not even the brilliant Dr. Carlisle.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Carlisle walked me out of the building, a rarity. It was so late he was locking up before the midnight security rounds came through.

He turned to lock the heavy doors of Kessler and I shivered. No coat went with this particular outfit and so I had gone without. And would now be getting drenched on my slow, long miserable trek to Whitlock.

Damn my stupid fashion sense that dictated heels with my Costello Tagliapietra dress, which surely wouldn't hold up well to getting wet.

That would be hard to explain to our maid when I sent it to her.

Carlisle's arm wrapping around my waist pulled me from my fashion woes. I leaned into his wool coat and turned so I could reap the benefits of one last kiss.

He initially pulled away, but then he took two steps backwards and shrouded us in the darkness of the looming building, away from the sole lamp that stood in front of Kessler.

My breath hitched as he tugged one leg over his knee and I could feel him, already getting hard again.

"Take me home." And I didn't mean my home.

I was begging and I was humiliated that this was my response to some guy rubbing his dick all over my couture, but it was the truth. I wanted him to take me home, to let me take care of him all over again, to watch his eyes close and his head tilt back as he cupped the back of my head and came in my mouth.

As he pulled me back up his body afterwards and looked at me through hooded, blissed out eyes as we just stayed there, slumped together in ecstasy.

An ecstasy no drug or sixteen year old could ever produce.

Carlisle's hand ran up the length of my thigh, coming to rest on the back of the leg he was holding up as I used my body to keep my sense of equilibrium.

"Good night Rosalie. Get home safe."

And then he was striding out into the night with his bag and his scarf, like the rain wasn't even hitting him.

I sighed and ran both hands through my completely tousled hair. It would take a lot of conditioner to get out all the knots from his hands and my hands being in my hair. But that would wait until morning, after I finished reliving the entire evening over and over again in the privacy of my own bed.

I stepped out into the rain and down the steps, wrapping my arms around myself and striding as fast as possible toward Whitlock. The clack of my shoes against the pavement sounded loud on a particularly creepy night, and I prayed I wouldn't run into any jocks or drunk partiers coming back from the game.

I nearly shrieked when a firm (yet very tiny) hand closed about my elbow and spun my around.

I gaped at Alice, dripping wet with hair matted and disheveled against her head, wearing muddy jeans and a SOA t-shirt. Her jaw was clenched and her lips were set in a straight line as she stared at me like I was Medusa.

I self-consciously patted my hair and fidgeted in the rain. I was scrambling for a good lie—a lie that would warrant me wearing a dress in a forty-degree rainy night instead of going to the football game as promised.

And then her eyes went in the direction that Dr. Carlisle had just been, would probably still be visible heading for the faculty parking lot, before returning to me, shock and fury clear even in the dark.

I opened my mouth to speak, but she had already sidestepped me and was heading towards our dorm room at a startling pace for someone with such short legs.

I reluctantly followed after her.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"He's a professor! Literally he's—he's a teacher at this school. It's illegal! It's practically statutory rape…are you fucking kidding me?"

I sat on my bed, now in my sweats and my hair in a ponytail, watching as my tiny roommate unleashed her lofty temper at me.

She was pacing in the small walkway space between my wardrobe and my bed. Her feet were kicking aside my clothes and occasionally she would reach down and toss something like a magazine or shoe out of her path.

Her hair had dried at awkward angles and she clearly hadn't run a hand through it when she was changing into dry clothes, a black pair of sweatpants and a black zip-up hoodie.

"I just, what the hell were you thinking? Are you really that awful at math that you just couldn't ask for help? You don't fuck the math teacher for a good grade! I could have helped—Edward could have helped—you can't possibly be that fucking senseless that this was the only acceptable alternative to actually admitting you aren't perfect at everything?"

Alice was systematically picking up my things and putting them away. Currently she was shoving one of the outfits I had rejected for tonight onto a hanger and attempting to close the bulging doors of my wardrobe. They finally clicked when she pushed her weight against them both.

The shoes were next, hanging on the back of my door on that shoe rack I never used. She shoved my favorite black pair of Manolo's onto the rack and I winced in sympathy for the shoes.

"I'm not failing math. I was never failing math." That wasn't what this was about. Now the question was, should I tell Alice that? Which was worse—sleeping with a teacher for a grade or because you had an insanely perverse, dirty crush on him that had finally come to (partial) fruition because I had spent a year working on this plan?

"I saw your ITED scores you know. Ninety-ninth percentile? You failed Algebra I. Kids come to that class stoned off their asses—literally a few of them have fallen out of their seats—and you're trying to tell me you didn't blow somebody, pay off somebody, blackmail somebody to manufacture those scores for you?"

My fingers curled around the edges of my comforter as I fought to hold in my temper. Of course. Rosalie Hale couldn't possibly be smart enough to get that score herself. She found some way to produce the results instead of working for it.

I mentally stuttered in my tirade. Had I given Alice any reason to think otherwise? Has she ever seen me work at anything? I kept up a very full-time, very exhausting charade of carelessness and privilege. We might live together, but I never let her see me study or do anything else that looked like even remote hard work.

"Alice. Calm down. Stop abusing my shoes. I purposely failed math last year. I wanted…I wanted to be in Dr. Carlisle's class again this year because I knew that he would cave in and give me what I wanted if I was patient enough."

Alice stared at me. "Give you what you wanted. What, exactly, is that Rose?"

"I…him. I wanted him. I want him." The admission sounded lame and uncertain, even ringing in my own ears as the truth. Like I purposely leaving something out. Like I was lying.

"That is single sickest thing I have ever heard. He's a teacher. He could be thrown in jail and he should be. I don't care how fucking cute he is, or what kind of trophy he is for you. It's his job to teach students, not fuck them. Not fool around them. DEFINTELY not kiss them on the steps of the math building at a quarter to midnight in plain sight where anyone and their mother could catch them!"

The rage seemed to be bubbling again as she began gathering my wrinkled, worn clothes and shoving them into the bag that I had sent out to be washed and pressed.

"It's not like that!" Was that my defense? Really? What the hell else could I say about this? He was a man I wanted and I had worked damn hard to lure him this far? That he had resisted and been the motivation for me to get clean? That he had once driven me home at three in the morning when I showed up at his door, higher than a gangster rapper wannabe? That I could rub myself all over him, all over his beautiful fucking cock and he saw right through my games and _didn't_ fuck me?

How could I explain that his control, his determination to not just fuck me because I looked like I did, asked for it like I did, and pretended to be cold as ice like I did, was exactly why he had been the guy I had been fantasizing over for the past year?

Alice was holding up a copy of a book that I didn't recognize. It was a tattered old paperback that clearly didn't belong to me and I had a sudden recollection of grabbing it and using it as a prop to lure Emmett to me.

"You said it was just us. Four of us. Nobody else. You came up with this stupid plan, made a lot of people completely miserable, and swore up and down that we were a unit. That we had each other's backs. You made the rules and you never had any goddamn intention of following them. We were your shield so you could run around behind our backs and fuck a teacher. You know, it's not even just him that should go to jail. You deserve to be in there more than anybody. You are so entirely fucked up, do you know that? Have you ever had a friend? Someone you weren't using to fuck someone else over? To hide your skanky, deceitful ways? Are you even human? Are you capable of understanding emotion, or showing any?"

I watched in horror as Alice's voice got rougher and rougher and the tears in her eyes began threatening to spill over.

"Alice, I didn't…I wasn't messing with him when we started this."

"But you did it anyway. You know it's wrong, you know it's disgusting. You know that you'd be in so much fucking trouble that not even your money could bail you out. And you know what? I think that's why you're doing it. Why you did drugs, why you let guys who aren't good enough for you paw all over you. You're a fucking two year old, crying for attention. You don't want to be bailed out, you want to be guilty. You can't stand yourself. You want to be seen as a bad person, because that's all you see when you look in a mirror—which is almost never I've noticed. You want to be punished, because otherwise you're not going to end up like Them, you'll end up worse."

I felt like I had been punched. Maybe slapped. All the air had gone from my lungs as tears pricked at the cold words from the one person I did consider to be a friend.

I hadn't treated her like one. But I thought she understood.

And she did. She was so entirely on target that I felt like someone had literally ripped the skin off of me and hung it out so everyone could see the veneer that Rosalie Hale had been so careful to cultivate.

Alice sniffled and wiped angrily at her tears with the back of her hand, looking down at me, sitting in my bed, holding onto my skin for dear life.

"You're not…you're wouldn't tell, would you?"

I couldn't even look at her when I asked. But I wasn't asking for me. I didn't give a fuck about me. But Carlisle was receiving money from the Academy to finish his doctorate while teaching and it wasn't his fault that I had dragged him into all this. And if it got out, I wouldn't be the one who was publicly punished.

Alice's eyes widened in disbelief before I saw something there, in those watery brown eyes, that I had never seen anybody direct at me before.

Pity.

She pitied me. Rosalie Hale.

"Alice, you can't. I'll do anything…"

Anything except for stop seeing him.

Alice shook her head back and forth, back and forth, eyes closed tightly shut. And when she finally opened them, her decision had been made. She met my eyes and levelly told me my fate.

"I'm sorry Rosalie, but you're out. You can't be one of us anymore."

I watched her disappear out of my room and seconds later the door slammed shut as I was left alone in my room.

I slumped onto my back and fought back the sobs that had been so determined to escape me all night.

In the end, I lost the fight.

Lost the game.


	14. A Series of Revolving Doors

_A/N: Thanks to everyone who is leaving such wonderful reviews. Don't forget about the Eddies and the Bellies! T-minus two hours until nominations are closed! Go show someone how much you enjoy their hard work!_

"_**Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake."**_

_~Napoleon Bonaparte_

Chapter 14: A Series of Revolving Doors

I am tired and wet, again.

I'm one of those people who perpetually have storm clouds over their heads, following them around where ever they go.

It's still my birthday; but only for another five minutes. And in those five minutes I plan on finding a place to stay for the night, seeing as I walked out on Rosalie.

I had used Edward's key to let myself into the boy's dorm. I stared at the brass plate with its engraved numbers. My hand raises and I knock rather loudly.

The floor is freakishly silent; the overhead florescent lights are on dim and there's not even the distant rushing sound of shower water running from the bathroom.

I'm freaking out as I hear heavy footsteps coming toward the door, twenty minutes ago I had told off Rosalie Hale, booted her from our unit, and stormed out, unable to bear the thought of seeing her anytime soon.

Too bad all of my crap is her suite. I had barely remembered to grab my keys before I took off.

I should have grabbed a damn umbrella.

The door opens to reveal a shirtless Emmett, whose hair is plastered onto his head except in the back where it was sticking straight up.

He was wearing knee-length athletic shorts and squinting at me, even though it wasn't even remotely bright in the hall. It didn't take a genius to figure out I had woken him up.

There were dark circles under his eyes, and his broad chest was covered in small bruises, particularly his upper arms. His ever-present gold chain with his football number hanging from it was off-center and I could see the lines from sleeping on the side of his face.

"Alice—" He mumbled, stifling a yawn. I cut him off.

"I yelled at Rosalie. I yelled at Rosalie and I told her she couldn't be friends with us anymore, which is stupid because I'm not seven and I sorta live with her and all of my stuff is in her freaking room and it's not like I can get my old room back because I'm currently blackmailing Claire, because I think Rosalie wanted to humiliate Brittany DeLane even though I don't know why. AND she's completely insane! I mean, you wouldn't even believe how far off the edge she has gone, she actually—"

"Alice."

His deep voice was like a gong going off in the hallway and I froze and got a bad case of the shivers.

I met his brown eyes, his dull, unimpressed brown eyes that were lacking in all forms of mischief or that weird sense of comfort that I experienced whenever I caught him looking at me.

"Why are you here?"

Why was I here? At the moment I had no clue. Because he was the first person I thought of when I left Whitlock. Because I wanted him to tell me Rosalie is a crazy bitch who was going to shoot herself in the foot over tearing so many people down. Because while she was ruining other people's lives (including mine), she was also apparently ruining her own in a way that heroin and boys and bitches never had.

Because I wanted him to give a damn about me and my life, but I had forgotten that jock Emmett wasn't capable of that.

"I need Edward's room number."

Emmett's eyes narrowed. They weren't even eyes anymore, just slits with insanely long, girly lashes. A boy that buff and broad should not have those eyelashes.

"_Why_ would you need that?"

"Because I kicked myself out of Rosalie's room and I need a place to stay tonight."

Emmett's jaw clenched, flickers went through his exposed skin as his muscles shifted and tensed. I watched in rapt but guilty attention.

"So stay with me." It was a low rumble, his lips barely even moved.

"You only want me here because you don't want Edward to have me." I stated evenly, with conviction. When had I begun resorting to trying to manipulate a declaration out of Emmett? Couldn't I just tell him that's all I wanted him to say in the first place?

"Alice, I'm tired. I've got two broken toes and a jammed finger. I feel like I've been hit by a freight train or a refrigerator with legs. We sucked and I couldn't block for shit with college scouts watching. It's the first time in four years that we haven't made the playoffs and Coach spent the entire bus trip back telling us we'd never play for him again. My dad was out there tonight, watching me get my ass kicked. I haven't slept in weeks, I'm behind on all my homework, and I haven't had sex since September. I am too tired to play these games with you, especially since you seem to be doing a fine job of channeling Rosalie Hale already. Edward's number is 501, do whatever the hell you want with him."

The door closed in my face.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Edward wasn't in his room and I was too tired and too emotionally strung out to go chasing after his impetuous ass.

I sat against his doorway and waited for him to come back.

He did around one thirty. By that time I had pulled my arms through my sleeves and had them wrapped around my waist, trying to get as far away as possible from the wet material of my shirt.

I had kicked out my shoes, but there was no way to get away from the icky, squishy feeling of wet jeans clinging to my ass and legs.

Edward came strolling down the hall and froze as he caught sight of me bundled into his doorway.

I glanced up at him, waiting for yet another dismissal and condescending speech, but Edward merely held out his long fingers and pulled me up so I was standing to his side as he unlocked his door and swung it wide, indicating I should enter.

I walked in and waited until Edward flipped the lights.

It was mostly what I expected. Music posters and text books and a high-tech computer. A keyboard in the corner.

A couch full of folded clothes.

An easy chair facing the TV.

Edward was pulling clothes from his drawers and I caught sight of a box of Wheat Thins in one of them.

No wonder the boy is so skinny.

I sniffled and gratefully accepted the navy sweatpants and two t-shirts. I went into his bathroom and tossed my wet clothes over the towel bars to dry. I knotted the drawstring tight around my waist and rolled up the pants so I wasn't tripping on them. I used both t-shirts to prevent nipple-age occurrences.

It had been thoughtful for him to think of double-layering.

When I waddled back into his room he handed me a pair of socks and a cup of hot lemon water.

"I didn't think coffee was what you'd want right now." He said quietly, sitting in his bed, back resting against the headboard.

"I kicked myself out of Rosalie's room."

He nodded, his lips pursed together as I sat in his desk chair, both of my legs hanging over the side to face him.

"I thought you weren't going to sleep with me until I stopped sleeping with Bella."

I huffed mockingly at him. "Desperate times call for crashing with whoever doesn't have a single bed, even if he is the town bicycle."

Edward snorted his laughter. "What did she do?"

I paused. I was going to tell them—I had every intention of telling Emmett before he slammed the door in my face.

"She wasn't playing by the rules either. I think I was the only one who was."

That wasn't what I meant. What I meant to say was that Rosalie was a big ho-bag who was getting off with her teacher! What I meant to tell Edward was that she was laughing at us all this entire time while she did whatever she wanted because the entire world apparently revolved around her.

But that wasn't what came out. And the rest of those words were stuck in my throat.

Not even lemon, honey, and water could soothe those words out.

I shook my head at my own stupidity. I set down the cup and crawled on the other side of Edward's double bed.

Edward watched me warily. I laid down in his bed, a good two and a half feet of space between us. I was on the edge of my side, he was on the edge of his. It wasn't until I pulled the covers up and around me and settled in on my side facing him that he relaxed and pushed himself so he was lying flat on the bed.

And then there was silence.

An eternity of silence and space as my head played and replayed the happenings of today.

And still he was quiet, even though I would bet my thoughts were noisy enough to keep anyone awake.

I could tell he wasn't asleep, nobody slept on their back, perfectly still like that. It looked uncomfortable.

"What's sex like?"

Edward coughed and I was shocked to see a blush creep up his cheeks. I had surprised the great Edward Cullen, would wonders never cease?

"Christ Almighty Alice." Was all he said for a moment and then he turned to stare at me with a strange expression on his face. He looked…determined.

"We aren't doing this tonight."

"I _know_." I bristled. Jesus, couldn't a girl even ask a question about sex without implying that she wanted to start humping a guy's leg?

There was a long pause and I watched Edward's Adam's apple bob up and down as he tried to decide what to tell me.

"Well..there aren't words, when it's good. But for all the other times it can be awkward as hell, embarrassing, and really uncomfortable."

Funny how those were words I had used to describe my life not having sex, when he was now using them to describe having sex.

"I mean it doesn't just happen right the first time. It can be too quick or too slow and you can end up knocking noses or foreheads or…other parts that just aren't pleasant. The worst is the positioning. You'll get a girl who'll lie there like a landed trout, or a girl who basically does a belly flop when trying to…never mind. Sometimes it's just really fucking embarrassing to ask for something or direct everything, but if you're going to have sex, have good sex is my opinion. And good sex is…." Edward blushed prettily again and shrugged. "Good sex is worth getting up in the morning for."

Part of me wanted to call him a pretty little girl for being so…embarrassingly adorable about sex, and the other part of me felt like I was seeing someone who often didn't peek out of his shell. Someone who wasn't all sex-hair and too-tight pants. A boy who was cringing thinking about awkward sexual encounters that had probably happened well before he was ready to be having sex.

A boy who was implying that sex between us could be good…it could be very good.

It was a dangerous implication.

I turned away from Edward onto my usual sleeping side and tried to get some sleep.

I heard Edward softly exhaling in peaceful slumber long before I succumbed to exhaustion.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I woke up to a mouth covering mine, working on my lips with tantalizing skill.

I woke up to hands that weren't mine squeezing my ba-dunk-a-dunk like asses were going out of style.

I woke up to a torso that wasn't mine beneath me, pressed entirely up against me, grinding all over me.

And I woke up to an erection that definitely wasn't mine pressing into my thigh, rocking me up and down while a tongue that was also not mine licked it's way right into my mouth.

Mmmm. Spearmint fresh.

Which meant this was a dream.

Because I wasn't the one who had so solidly stated, 'we aren't doing this.'

And I certainly hadn't crawled across the bed and begun humping him in my sleep, did I?

I cracked open my eyelids (ew, crust), and sneaked a peak at my side of the bed.

Okay, so maybe I had crawled over and begun humping him while I was still sleeping.

Because he hadn't moved. I had.

I abruptly pulled back, wrestling the hands away from ass and sat up straight.

His cock sat up straight at the sudden pressure shift too.

Edward moaned.

I froze.

Edward moaned.

Not groaned, no grunted, not used every variant of the f-word in the book, but literally sighed/moaned as his head rocked backwards into his pillow. His cheeks were flushed and his lips were pink, and he was breathing audibly.

Because I was sitting on his morning wood.

Was it any wonder I was ogling the boy?

Alice, you're frightening me with that look." Edward said, sitting up completely to adjust my position over his cock so that I was now kneeling at his side. I reveled at his bare chest. When the hell had that happened?

My brain noted his hair was damp and my electrons apparently were awake enough to compute 'shower' to my hormone-induced head.

I glanced at the clock. 11:52.

Holy shit.

"What's in that pretty little head of yours?"

I still didn't move, or answer. I just sat there, almost staring through him as I tried to figure out how the hell this had happened.

"Alice, you haven't blinked in like three whole minutes and-" Edward was cut off by my lips.

Game on.

Edward seemed to recognize the intent of my kiss and in return I got from him a sense of caution and disbelief. I once again crawled right on top of him in his double bed and lifted one knee over his torso and sank down so I was straddling him in his sweatpants.

This was no dream. Because if this was a dream, I wouldn't be able to feel his erection straining against his pajama bottoms with the way I was sitting. If this was a dream, I wouldn't be tangled in too long pants and two t-shirts.

If this was a dream, I'm not sure it would be Edward that I was straddling.

Edward shyly looked up and saw me sitting there plain as day, not moving. His eyes looked a little hazy, as though he was slightly drunk, but I knew that not to be the case. Was that arousal in his eyes? Arousal over me?

Slowly I spread my knees wider and leaned down so I was face to face with Edward and his mop of hair that was dripping onto the pillowcase. I was unbearably warm, a lovely change from being soaking wet. I hypothesized that it was Edward's skin against mine, even through the layers, that was actually radiating heat to me. Even skinny boys were natural furnaces for us weaker females.

His hands helped pulled off both of the t-shirts at once. I stretched like a cat against him and my nipples brushed his chest and the line of dark hair running down his abdomen. Edward went rigid. His hands came up to my hips and he began to rub them. With painstaking care, I slowly began to move in little circles, stimulating us both until both of our control was badly frayed.

He pulled me down to his awaiting mouth and in the process pulled me flush against his own, so that I was lying on top of him completely, my legs intertwined with his, my torso in line with his. I had never kissed a person like I was kissing Edward, with purpose of this leading somewhere beyond a boy walking me up to my front door. I was the one leading us, just as much as he was the one guiding me with a helping hand (and tongue).

The unbearable arousal made me greedy to be granted entrance into his warm mouth and the pulsing of his heart against me own excited me. I wanted him to flip us over, to feel that weight on me.

But Edward had other ideas, he always did. When I tried to roll us to the side, he crushed me even more tightly, wanting to seek revenge for the seduction I had apparently begun.

His fingers danced lightly across my bare chest, tracing circles and patterns and lightly flicking my nipples until I squirmed and tried to pull away.

Edward was having none of it.

When his fingers traveled to my bellybutton, I couldn't help but giggle while still kissing him. There was a wet, sticking sound as I disentangled myself and we both froze. My hand came up to my mouth and my shoulders shook silently before my laughter grew audible and I leaned my head against his shoulder until the sound of laughter vibrated into Edward's body.

"Are you ticklish Alice? Do you GIGGLE when someone touches you right...here?" Edward poked me again and I jumped, causing me to topple off of him and roll to the side, still laughing.

Edward groaned and ran his hands through his hair. Well that was embarrassing. My laughter died out and I felt the bed shift as Edward pulled me into his arms and rolled us until I was firmly under him.

Apparently laughing hadn't affected his ability to stay hard.

"See what I mean? All your little secrets out there for the world to see."

I couldn't seem to pull my gaze away from the outline of his body. I absently heard what he said in reference to my question last night.

"Hate to break it to you Edward, but contrary to popular belief, you don't qualify as 'the world'."

Edward rolled his eyes and his fingers crept back up to find my nipples. God, he was good at that. I never once even thought boobs or nipples had anything to do with sex, other than turn guys on. Apparently it could feel good, who knew? My own fingers were massaging his shoulders and occasionally I would lean in to nip at his ear and neck.

His hands eventually slid down to my hips and the waistband of his sweatpants. The ones I was wearing. I hauled in a couple of deep breaths as they were pushed down my hips and kicked off by his feet when he couldn't reach.

But I couldn't be embarrassed, especially not when his sweats followed shortly after. His hand ran up and down my legs and stopped when he reached my knees and ran his hand over the area again.

I flushed deep red.

"Alice..."

"I hate shaving my knees when it's cold."

There was an unbearably embarrassing pause as he took in that information.

"That is so very wrong." Edward tried not to laugh, but couldn't help it.

"Shut up and kiss me, I'm getting cold."

I wasn't, but it was the only thing I could think of to keep him from laughing at me.

Well, there was one other option…

My hands traveled down to grasp his erection and Edward exhaled loudly with a very naughty word.

Option B also a success.

I hadn't really ever gotten a close look at Emmett's, and Edward didn't seem to mind that I was staring, just as long as my hand was moving up and down.

He was smaller than Emmett, in length and girth. His wasn't as scary, and it suited his body well. The head was more mushroomed out and every time I reached deep, to the base of his cock and back up, his eyes fluttered closed and he would swear. Singular words. Fuck. Shit. Goddamn.

It looked to me that he looked like the world was ending via a hand job. Like it was torture he wouldn't mind repeating once a week. And sweet torture could only last so long. Just as pre-cum began slipping down his shaft, he stopped me and rolled to side away from me, giving me a wonderful view of his face as he shuddered and fought to catch his breath, while fighting off his impending orgasm.

Raggedly Edward forced himself to sit up and watch me, lounging naked in his bed, without the slightest hint of embarrassment or discomfort.

I felt drunk on sex.

I felt giddy on the butterflies in my stomach.

I felt like giggling until I cried.

I felt like not being a virgin today.

I grabbed him by his long, floppy hair and pulled him up next to me. He pulled out a condom from his nightstand (oh god the cliché) and rolled it onto himself, no words necessary. There were no kisses this time, only my eyes melting his.

It didn't feel quite so funny anymore.

He didn't need to coach me now, and the laughter was gone. His weight settled on top of me and my knees gave way to his hips, pressing up so I could wrap my legs around his back. There was a solid, steady pressure pressing into me and I looked to Edward, wanting reassurance and trust. There was none in his eyes and he breathed into my neck and buried his face as he thrust into me.

"Fuck." Was the only word I could seem to remember as the pressure intensified and I tried to shift my hips, only to find that his hands were preventing me from doing just that. His hands practically lifted my hips and ass off the bed as he thrust into me all at once, firmly burying himself inside of me, well past whatever barrier had been there after sixteen years of innocence.

I kept repeating the word over and over again as he tried to still himself once he was there.

Only it was now my hips that weren't cooperating. They squirmed and tried to dislodge him, and my fingers were digging trenches into his chest as I thought about pushing him away.

"Fuck." I whispered and Edward's hand came up to tangle in the hair on the side of my face.

"Hold still…god."

I tried, but my hips jerked one too many times and his followed suit, slamming into me. I yelped in surprise and every muscle in my body tensed.

And I do mean every muscle.

Edward choked on whatever he had been trying to say and I could suddenly feel him there, pulsing and twitching inside of me as his weight completely sagged onto my body. His breathing was rapid and his eyes were closed. His entire face was buried in my neck. His hips had been jerking into me, but were now still.

Both of our hearts were thundering, but for very different reasons.

When Edward finally stirred and lifted his head, his eyes were half-closed, but I could see the regret in them.

He gingerly pulled out of me and tossed the condom into his wastebasket.

He rolled me back on top of him when he returned to the bed.

I slumped on my chest and tried not to feel like a failure.

Again.

"I'm sorry Alice. I didn't expect you to…you were so tight. God."

That plea to the heavens sounded like a compliment.

Edward sighed and his hand trailed up and down my back.

"It hurt." A lot more than I had been expecting it to. And my brain was helpfully reminding me that this exact reason was the reason Emmett said he hadn't slept with me either.

"You're…you're just so tiny Alice. And I was so desperate. I knew better. I should have...well I should have taken more time, gotten you off first."

I cringed. How had Edward described sex last night? Awkward, uncomfortable and embarrassing?

Wow, he nailed that.

Pun intended.

Edward rolled us to the side. "I guess we'll just have to keep doing it until I can get you off, huh?"

I watched his face turn unbelievably smug, over getting laid or popping my cherry, I'm not really sure which, but that grin was almost retina-scarring at such close range.

"Do you really think I'm going to willingly say yes to that experience again?"

It was a hateful barb and Edward colored at it, looking embarrassed for a moment before kissing me soundly and rising from our cocoon of sex.

"I'll make you a promise Alice. I won't have sex with you again until you ask me."

And then the smug bastard disappeared into the bathroom, leaving me all alone with my thoughts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I had hauled on a pair of sweats and a hooded sweatshirt around 3:35 in the morning. Damning the pixie who had interrupted my sleep for the past three and a half hours I slammed my door shut, not caring if I woke Newton, who snored anyway.

I strode across campus with my hands jammed in my pockets and arrived on the fifth floor of Whitlock Hall before the rain could properly soak me.

I scowled at the door and rapped loudly. And kept rapping until I heard some movement from within the room.

I caught sight of a few doors to my right and left opening just a crap as bleary-eyed teenage girls tried to figure out who the hell was disturbing their beauty rest in the middle of the night.

Fuck em. If I couldn't sleep, neither would anyone else.

Finally the doorknob turned and Rosalie Hale appeared, clutching a peach satin robe to her chest as she squinted and balefully glared at me.

I looked over the top of her tousled head of blonde curls into the room. The single bed in the sitting room was empty and still perfectly made.

She had gone to Edward's.

Fuck.

"Get in here." Rosalie hissed, yanking on me arm to pull me in the room. She was surprisingly strong for a chick and I followed, hearing the door close the instant I was inside the dorm and away from prying eyes.

"What did Alice tell you?" She demanded, but I was in no mood for putting up with her 'me, me, me' bullshit tonight.

I was bruised and beaten and I couldn't get that look of hurt on Alice's face out of my head as I sent her merrily on her way to Cullen's bed so he could do whatever he wanted with him, with my _permission_.

I was such a stupid fucker.

And now I was a stupid fucker who couldn't sleep because the thought that the one time a damsel—my goddamn damsel—needed a shiny white knight, I had yelled at her.

Yelled at her and practically told her to go hump the squire boy.

Shit.

No wonder I couldn't fucking sleep.

Alice's furious spew of words had been playing on a loop in my head since I laid back down in my bed. Alice was shacking up with Cullen because Rosalie had crossed a line while I hadn't been watching, waiting to dive in and save the day. She had wanted to shack up with me, until I acted like an ass. And because I was preoccupied with football and scholarships and keeping my family situation a secret, Rosalie had successfully pushed Alice to an edge, an edge which I might as well thrown her off of when I slammed the door in her face.

All of which brought me to being unable to sleep and Rosalie to being possibly the biggest cunt on the planet.

And I don't even like to use that word.

I was all up in Rosalie's personal space now, and to give credit where credit is due, she hadn't taken a single step back, though her neck had to ache looking up at me at that angle.

"Stay the hell away from her."

Rosalie's eyebrows jerked up in surprise. Her mouth opened, but I wasn't about to let her argue with me.

"I don't care what you did to her, I'm telling you that if I see you two in the same hallway together, I will personally reveal who is responsible for posting internet videos, for starting rumors, for going through medical files and then flaunting who was pregnant and then magically wasn't. It'll all be on you."

Rosalie's fingers were clawing into her forearm. They were already bleeding. I glanced around the room.

"Cullen and I will take care of her until we can figure out somewhere for her to live. But I mean it Rosalie. You stay the fuck away from that girl. You've done enough damage already."

I slammed the door on my way out.

_A/N: Yes? No? Let me know!_


	15. Interlude: The Eighth Day

A/N: Okay, so this is a longer note than usual. First off, I'd like to thank everyone who reviewed the last chapter—it was the most reviews I had ever gotten on a single chapter.

Also, thank you to people who are recc'ing my story to their friends, you are awesome and I would pay you for the pimping if I wasn't a poor fic whore schoolteacher.

Special thanks to Avalonia, Chiefco34, Jaina 12, and Angel for all their support and hilarity over the length of this story.

Finally, for all of you who wonder why it takes me a week to get back to your review, well the answer is that I don't look at my reviews (generally) until I'm ready to sit down and right because they provide me with so much motivation. I usually only have time on the weekends and thus, it might be a little while before I get to them. But I read each and every one and I adore so many of you for your amazing words. They make me blush like Bella getting caught with her hand down Edward's pants. So thank you.

Oh I forgot! (Fake out). This was supposed to be an interlude, just a quick scene or two before I head back to Rosalie's infinitely messy head, but as per usual, I'm wordy (have you noticed?) and it ended up being ten pages. So if you're wondering why the plot isn't moving on this chapter, that's why. My apologies.

"_**If you haven't got anything nice to say about anybody, come sit next to me."**_

~Alice Roosevelt Longworth

_Chapter 15_

_Interlude: The Eighth Day_

I wake up in Edward's bed, three feet away from him.

I kick him, he groans into his pillow, and reluctantly releases some covers so I'm not shivering in the early November morning.

I fall back asleep.

I have taken to setting Edward's alarm twice, once when I wake up at seven and again at seven forty-five.

At seven forty-five Edward hits the snooze button as I slip out into the hallway, after making sure it's clear of any residents who might see me waltzing out of the boys' dorm.

At eight o' one the tardy bell rings and I wonder if Edward is still in bed.

Rosalie doesn't show up to Spanish class at 9:35.

She is not sitting at our lunch table when I arrive at exactly 12:03.

Edward is.

He smirks when I ask if he managed to get to school on time.

He replies that he didn't get marked as tardy.

I retort that that wasn't what I asked.

We sit in silence and pick at our chicken nuggets and fries.

My eyes catch Emmett's as he appears through the line, stacking extra milks on whatever miniscule space is left on his overloaded tray. I try to smile, try to tell him that I'm not upset at him for kicking me out when I needed him.

He doesn't take the time to read the message in them. His eyes shift to Edward, who is behind me and has one hand draped over the back of my plastic chair.

Emmett slides his ID through the register and walks to the long rectangular table that houses almost all male athletes.

The guys pause as Emmett sets down his food and their eyes go to Edward and I, sitting alone at a table meant for six, side by side, without Rosalie or Emmett.

Rosalie doesn't show the entire lunch period and the whispers aren't very subtle.

Edward pulls out my chair and he walks me to class.

Emmett is a no-show in seventh period poli geo, and Rosalie walks in late with a note and sits in the front row.

More eyes than ever before are one me.

Edward has orchestra after school and I sit in the library and study. I usually am in my pajama's sketching or watching TV when he comes in for the night.

We make-out and grope each other and roll all over the bed.

We avoid talking about anything having to do with Rosalie, Emmett, or what caused this shift in dynamic.

This is our routine for a week.

Emmett avoids me, even when I purposely wait for him outside of his lit class.

Rosalie sits as far away as possible from me in class and has stopped eating in the cafeteria.

Edward is the same as always, a shell of a mysterious guy, except that now he's a shell I'm living with and had sex with once.

I re-dye my hair and put purply- blue streaks in it.

Dean Regan calls me in during third hour and tells me I can't go back to class until the blue is gone.

I attend class anyway and the blue stays.

I get caught by a random sophomore walking out of Edward's room in the morning on the eighth day of this new arrangement and the whispers have turned into stares and pointing fingers.

Edward smirks at the gossipers and puts his hand in my back pocket as we traverse the campus, which is more brown than golden with winter's impending arrival.

By the time math class rolls around, I am ready to combust.

Jessica Stanley and Lauren I-couldn't-be-bothered-to-remember-her-last-name are still seated in front of me.

It is a first, after my presence behind them for two and a half months that Lauren nudges Jessica and Jessica turns around to actually speak to me.

"So, are you and Edward Cullen a couple? Because I heard that you and Emmett McCarty were—"

Lauren nudges Jessica harder and Jessica abruptly stops talking. Subtle.

"We're not a couple."

"You and Edward aren't a couple, or you and Emmett?" Lauren presses with her piggish face and her painfully bleached hair swinging as she turns completely around to face me, like we're suddenly friends (or even acquaintances) just because I have some information the entire student body is salivating over.

"Neither."

"Are they with Rosalie Hale?"

I paused. That would explain the scarf Rose had taken to wearing lately to hide what I could only assume to be bite marks.

"No."

"So they're available? Because I heard that Emmett McCarty has a huge—"

The bells rings and I storm out of class and people give me quite a bit of space in the otherwise crowded hallway.

Emmett and Rosalie are MIA again in political geography. I have to hike all the way across campus to get to the science building for last period biology and I catch sight of ragged curls and red converse sneakers.

Emmett is standing there talking to Lauren, who has loosened her tie and unbuttoned several buttons. Her jacket is thrown over one arm and she's looking up at Emmett like he's Ghandi. She's completely enraptured.

And Emmett is beaming, clearly enjoying the attention.

I change direction in mid-stride, causing the flow of people around me to be jostled as I head for the cozy pair who are standing under one of the bare elms, even though it's getting too cool to be loitering outside.

I march up to Lauren and interpose myself in the narrow space between their bodies. Lauren actually has to take a step back so we won't be bumping chests.

Emmett saw me coming and has a scowl on his face I'm sure, but my back is turned to him for the moment.

Lauren is biting the inside of her cheek and looking nervous.

"Hey Lauren." I greet in my most friendly voice.

Lauren's brows (which do not match her hair) crinkle. "Hi Alice."

"It was nice talking to you in math class today."

Wide blue eyes. I could feel Emmett tense behind me. Lauren didn't seem able to make conversation, so I continued as though she had responded with something bland and appropriate.

"You know that question you asked me, about the equilateral triangle? I didn't get a chance to tell you, but the answer was no."

Lauren just nodded and her eyes went to Emmett all wide and innocent, like she was asking him to remove the insane, rambling pixie from her presence.

I reached forward and tugged her tie until she went bent forward and eye level with me.

"Would hate for you to get a detention for being out of dress code Lauren." I buttoned up her shirt and tightened her tie, smoothing it when I was finished. "Have a nice day."

I released her and pointedly waited for her to start walking away.

I could feel the temper of the man behind me rising, but now I was mad and so I didn't even turn around.

I just walked away, in the opposite direction of my class.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Campus security caught me before I could get to the dorms. I was escorted to the Dean's office and told to wait in the hallway outside Dean Regan's office.

I waved hello to the office ladies and headed back to the hallway where students could probably disappear and no one would ever be any the wiser.

Purple stilettos assaulted me as I stared at the ground and fell into the plastic chair, a list of obscenities taller than I was rolling through my brain.

I only knew one person who had purple high heels.

My gaze snapped up to Rosalie Hale, who was staring at me like I was a hallucination.

Rosalie Hale who was out of dress code and wearing three inch heels with a pair of skinny jeans and a top that cost more than most people's rent.

"What are you doing back here?"

The exact same question had been about to tumble from my lips.

"Skipping class." I answered shortly. "You?"

"Truancy."

Figures she'd use the fancy term.

"Couldn't your…_boyfriend_ get you excused?" I asked pointedly, crossing my arms over my chest as I propped my feet on the chair separating Rosalie from myself.

"Couldn't yours?" Rosalie fired back.

"Mine wasn't planned. What's your excuse? You had to work the lunch shift at Hoochies-R-Us?"

Rosalie's fingers clenched and the pen she had been twirling went flying into the opposite wall.

She stood up and I recognized a Rosalie Hale dramatic exit when I saw one.

Before she had taken even one step, the door opened and Dean Regan appeared, ushering out none other than one Emmett James McCarty.

"Going somewhere Miss Hale?" The Dean asked amiably enough, though he clearly read the tension in the air.

Emmett was drilling holes into the side of Rosalie's head.

Rosalie didn't answer, just brushed by Emmett and stalked into the Dean's office.

"Back to class Emmett. You can't afford to miss anymore or else you'll be forced to petition for credit this semester."

I heard Dean Regan sigh and close the door softly.

Emmett stood in front of my chair with his hands on his hips as he looked down at me.

"Was Rosalie bothering you?" He demanded.

"Fine time to start wondering." I muttered.

Emmett's eyes rolled in his head. I was unamused by this show of aggression, by the irritation rolling from his big, tense body.

"What was that all about before?"

I shrugged and looked away. "Nothing."

"Bullshit Alice. Lauren was practically running away from you and all you said was 'have a nice day.'"

No, that wasn't all I said. But I didn't expect Emmett to be smart enough to figure out the insinuations beneath the pleasantries. Not this Emmett anyway.

"Emmett, have you ever the expression, politing someone to death?"

Emmett's brow raised. "Can't say that I have."

"Why was Lauren Mallory all over you?"

Emmett shifted his weight and rolled his neck. He knew what was coming.

"She's always all over every jock strap that makes varsity, even the male cheerleaders.

We had male cheerleaders at this school?

"Why were you encouraging her?"

"I wasn't."

"I'm not blind."

"You're with Edward. So who cares who I choose to encourage?"

"You told me to go to Edward. I went to you _first_."

"Does Cullen know that?"

It was a taunt. But it was also an honest question. His eyes were steeled on mine, waiting for an answer.

"No."

Emmett's grin was wide, but his eyes were cold. There was no true victory in knowing that I had initially wanted him and settled for Edward. After all, Edward was the one who got laid while I got a muscle cramp in my right thigh.

He turned to walk away, I wasn't ready to let him go.

"Are you going to keep acting like I'm invisible?"

"Yes."

"I didn't do anything wrong."

"You slept with _him_."

"That was part of our agreement. You slept with Rosalie."

"No, you don't get it. You slept with Edward."

I gritted my teeth. Clearly sixteen year old males needed a course on communication with members of the opposite sex. "Yes. I remember that part quite clearly."

"You don't…" Emmett's hand went to his tie and loosened it. He rolled his neck, again. "I knew a month ago or whenever the hell this thing started that you were going to sleep with Edward. I knew two weeks ago you'd sleep with Edward. But then you come running to me in the middle of the night telling me the game's done and over with. And then you sleep with Edward. And it's not about getting there first. Hell, if the way you and Cullen have been avoiding bumping elbows for the past week, I'd say he did me a favor. But what I want…what I want is to know why you slept with Edward."

Because.

Because.

Because….

Because Edward was easy. He was in his shell and there's was no contract except for the physical. Because I needed a place to stay. Because I was rejected and hurt because the guy I ran to first slammed the door in my face. Because I thought that this was my way into a group, into a place where I could hide the fact that I was still the poor southern girl who didn't have any friends.

"If the answer isn't I love you, is there ever a good reason to have sex Emmett?" I asked abruptly.

"I don't know." Emmett answered, but his eyes were studying me more intently now, like he knew just how guilty I was.

"How many girls have you loved?"

"None."

"But you've had sex. So I don't think you get to be mad at me for having sex with someone who I'm not in love with. I'm not in love with you and yet you wanted us to have sex. It would have been the same if I slept with you."

"You're avoiding my question. And you didn't sleep with me. I sent you to Edward, whose moral compass points due south, in the direction of his dick."

"I wanted you!" I yelled and then winced. Softer I hissed. "I wanted you. Stupid coin flip or not, I was waiting for you to make a fucking move. And you didn't. You didn't even want to be around me, you still don't. The one time I need a friend, you are the only person I could think of in this whole goddamn state. You didn't want me. Edward does. It's that simple."

Emmett walked off, pounding his fist against the wall with every stride.

Thump, thump, thump, thump.

He turned the corner at the end of the hallway and disappeared from my sight.

I fidgeted in my uncomfortable chair for another ten minutes, until Dean Regan appeared with Rosalie, who clearly had tear-stains down her cheeks and a slip I recognized as a detention slip.

The Dean motioned for me to go in, and Rosalie caught my eye as I picked up my bag and headed toward whatever punishment I'd be getting.

She rolled her eyes at me, smirked, slipped on a pair of oversized sunglasses and sailed down the hall, her shoes clacking with every pace.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Detention for skipping, that's pretty standard. But detention every day until you change your hair…Dean Regan isn't usually so harsh on stupid shit like dress code and hairstyles. Hell, Emmett has worn those red Converses since last year and no one's ever said a peep."

I did not want to talk about Emmett. "I had already gotten called down and told to get rid of the blue. I'm guessing he didn't take outright defiance very well."

Edward shrugged. "So, are you going to change it? Maybe you should put white streaks in your hair…that's a natural color." His grin was wickedly innocent and I laughed as I closed my bio notes and tossed him back his notes.

"Nah. I think I'll keep it. I think it's about time I shook things up around here. Besides, sitting in a room for forty-five minutes is hardly a punishment. It'll be more like built-in homework time."

Edward wrinkled his nose. "I never understand how we have almost all the exact same classes and yet you're always doing homework."

Neither did I. But then again, Edward never seemed to have to work very hard for anything.

"Are you ever going to tell me anything more about yourself than your dream of being a composer playing in some coffee bar and writing brilliant undiscovered ballads while looking like a homeless man who actually is sitting on a trust fund the size of Cambodia?" I ask impulsively. Edward looks surprised.

"Did I tell you about how I want to steal all the school's football trophies and melt them down to scrap and then re-sculpt them into the shape of a giant phallus?"

"Yes."

"Then I'm out."

"How about you tell me about one of your favorite fantasies while I get you off?"

Edward's eyebrow cocked heavily. "Is this going to lead to sex? Are you, Mary Alice Brandon, asking me, Edward Anthony Cullen, for sex?"

"No. I was thinking this might lead to me getting you off and then maybe I'll let you return the favor."

Edward was already stripping off his uniform shirt. I smirked and made my way to the bed, planting myself in the dead center on my back.

I stared up at the plaster ceiling as I heard him undress. Then I felt his hands tugging at my yoga pants until he wrangled them off my legs.

His body weight fell onto the bed, making me bounce slightly. His hand curled around my hip and his hair was flopping in his face again.

"Ok, so we're treasure hunters in the middle east, like in 'Raiders of the Lost Arc'? I'm Harrison Ford and you're…"

Shake things up indeed.

**End note: Come visit my thread for ****The Elite**** on the Twilighted boards! It's great fun and I always love to hear from new voices what I'm doing right, wrong, and what needs to be better!**


	16. Sleep Now in the Fire

_A/N: I'm very sorry for the week-long delay, but if it's any consolation to you, the reason for the delay is that I need the next chapter to match up to this one and so chapter 17 should be out by Wednesday, earlier if some of you leave me some awesomeness in my inbox. (Sorry to sell out on you like that, but it's been one of those weeks.) Anywho, thanks for your patience, check out the voting (which begins Feb 18__th__) at the Eddies and Bellies, and here is the link for the thread for The Elite, since copy/pasting hyperlinks apparently doesn't work. _

_.?f=44&t=1250&start=280&st=0&sk=t&sd=a&hilit=the+elite_

_As always, thanks for your kind, kind words and suggestions. You're the reason I write after a hard week ___

"_**God help you if you are an ugly girl, 'course too pretty is also your **__**doom**__**, 'cause everyone harbors a secret hatred for the prettiest girl in the room.**__**"**_

~Ani Difranco

Chapter 16: Sleep Now in the Fire

For my sixteenth birthday I got an Escalade and a thousand dollar meal at the ritziest place in Miami with my family. I was barely keeping down solids after spending a year strung out on smack, and I barely touched my meal.

If it wasn't for the money (and the dirty little secrets three fourths of my family was hiding) my family would be the fucking Cleavers.

But we had money (and just as many secrets) and instead of Mayberry, I got Miami, The Hamptons, and a MasterCard.

Priceless.

The Escalade was purely for show, because only the upperclassmen were allowed to have vehicles on campus. The rest of the student body was strictly pedestrian.

Pun intended.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Every year, two weeks before Thanksgiving, on a ridiculously cold Thursday night, the Seniors threw a bonfire to "roast" the current senior class. This tradition consisted of juniors and other underclassmen making grand speeches and honoring the current seniors by kissing their ass, getting them drinks all night, and catering to their every whim.

Most of those whims included embarrassing other students.

This was actually a school-sponsored event, complete with teacher chaperones.

Teacher chaperones who ignored that water bottles filled with vodka and bottles of pop with an assortment of liquors were getting passed around like it was the Last Supper.

I hadn't planned on going. God knew I'd be asked to sit on the right hand of some small wienered meathead who wanted me to feed him grapes (or funyons) all night.

But I hadn't planned on not having anywhere else to be either.

And in the end, being there, amongst all the insipid, vain fashion-model wannabes was better than being alone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Miss Hale, you have twelve unexcused absences for the year, and it's hardly November. Would you care to explain why you seem to be so hellbent on adding further ruin to your academic career?"

Dean Regan's eyes were unimpressed, cold green stones behind bushy eyebrows. Once he had sympathy for me. Now I had moved beyond sympathy; I had taken advantage of my troubles and used them to get what I wanted. And I what I had wanted all of last year and apparently for twelve days this year, was not to be in school. How many times had I promised the man across from me that I would turn myself around and starting behaving myself? How many times had I been marched down into this office about skiving off class to shoot up because a certain math teacher was ignoring me, or because I simply couldn't stand being stuck in the middle of a room with so many nasty, superficial voices all whispering and pointing and hoping no one was whispering or pointing back at them?

How many times had he asked me, in a variety of tones and expressions, what was wrong with me.

What was wrong with _me_? What was _wrong_ with me?

I'm a teenager, asshat, how's that for wrong?

"No." I replied back flatly, careful not to look away. I kept my bored gaze trained on him, even though I could feel my muscles begin to tense and my stomach roll at the thought of maintaining eye contact while preserving my carefully arranged mask.

"Miss Hale, you have a history of skipped classes and I thought after last year that you would resolve this habit of not attending class whenever the whimsy strikes you."

Points to the D-man for use of 'whimsy'. I bet that was on one of the standardized, pre-college tests all sophomores were made to take.

"Call my mother, Dean Regan. I'm sure she'll excuse the absences."

There was no use in pretending that I was sick, had an appointment, a migraine, or wicked cramps. I had used them all before and Dean Regan wasn't buying what I was trying to sell.

The Dean sighed and I suddenly felt my heart begin to speed up. That sigh was not one of defeat; that was the sigh of an adult who thought he could "reach" a kid before playing his final trump card.

"I called your father."

What?

"Senator Hale was very direct in his instructions. I believe he said to 'throw the book' at you, if I recall correctly."

My fingers curled around the edge of the chair. I was practically vibrating with impending doom that this man had brought down upon me, thinking that I would finally get what was coming to me.

And he was right, damn him.

My father bought his way out of feeling guilty for never being home with Escalades and MasterCard's and summer homes in Miami, The Hamptons, and one on Lake Michigan. But in return for the luxury, he expected, no, demanded model behavior that included good grades, perfect manners, and stellar citizenship. No one in the media or in politics would ever be able to fault the Hale children for anything, certainly not an expensive drug habit and an illegal affair with a man a decade older than me.

I had been grounded without a phone or internet when my report card came home last spring. My father had left a lengthy voicemail informing me I was stripped of my privileges and that he would be sending a math tutor over every week until I was positive I would never fail at anything ever again.

I'd probably be receiving a similar call tonight, if dad could find ten minutes between glad-handing and giving speeches about the state of the national debt.

"You are to serve three days in-school suspension for truancy, and if this habit persists, we will be mailing you a letter from the state informing you that you could be called before a judge for violating the state mandates on education. This will go on your permanent record, Rosalie."

There was suddenly a loud outburst from the hallway and Dean Regan moved to go and check on what had just happened, but seemed to think better of it and sat back down, crossing his hands on her desk expectantly. I prepared myself for the caring educator routine.

"Your teachers all say that you are exceptionally bright and gifted Rosalie, when you bother to show up for their classes. You're passing math class, and Professor Cullen even thought you would be able to catch up by semester and return to geometry. There's no reason for me to have you in here, except for the fact that you simply don't seem to want to succeed. Can you tell me why you're throwing away such a bright future?"

Typical. And yet it worked. Fucking clichés.

Traitorous tears were rolling down my cheeks and I determinedly clamped harder down on the chair as my jaw stayed wired shut, despite the slew of words that suddenly wanted to bubble up and out of my mouth. I was staring at his name plate now, rocking back and forth by the slightest of degrees, letting the elegant letters etched into gold plating to spell out his title and job blur and unblur as my eyes crossed in concentration of staying the fuck quiet.

I heard him sigh. "You may go Rosalie. You're suspension begins Monday after the long weekend."

Friday was "Teacher Appreciation Day." St. Olaf's gave their teacher's the day off away from us heathens. I personally thought a day away from the teachers should be called "student appreciation day."

He handed me a pink slip that I would need to get signed by whoever was in charge of watching the kids who were stupid enough to get in-school suspension.

I got up, aware of him following me. I got to the door before he could, swung it open with a satisfying thunk, and strode out, reaching for my sunglasses.

Alice was still there, looking worse for the wear. I could only imagine what Emmett had said to her, because I had recognized her yelling before. Which was mildly surprising, because if anyone had a right to yell right now, it was Emmett. The entire school knew she and Edward were living together. Emmett couldn't be happy. He thought he had that pussy on lock-down.

I rolled my eyes at the thought of how stupid boys were and tried to smile at her, but I think it came out more condescending than friendly, and I was fresh out of anything resembling the cocky, too hot, hot-mess with arrogance I was renowned for, so I flipped my sunglasses down on my face, even though I was in the middle of a hallway with no windows, and strode out to leave Alice to her fate.

~*~*~*~*~**~*

The next day was Thursday and I reluctantly went to all of my classes and sat there, reliving the unpleasantness that had been my father's three-way phone call last night. My mother in our country home outside of Boston, my father in Washington, and me in the middle of nowhere, listening to them bicker and debate about my "problem."

My mom was forgiving. She always was. But it was easy to be forgiving when you were getting screwed by your Pilates instructor while your husband was away trying to save the nation. After all, my dad repeatedly forgave her and even blamed himself for her extra-marital hobbies. If he wasn't around, it really wasn't fair that mom, who could pass for a woman in her early thirties, to be stuck in a gated community that housed mostly retired couples who golfed and played either bridge or rummy on their free afternoons.

That same benediction did not extend to his offspring.

My dad wanted immediate results. Suspension was not enough. If it wasn't trashy television beneath his intellectual level, he'd have me on the Maury episode where they send kids to boot camp to scare them into behaving. He would make an example of me if he could, because he was supposed to be an example to Jane and Jack Smith of blue-collar America.

My father is the aforementioned saint of our family. No skeletons lying around, no failing grades on old report cards to be seen. He has no tolerance for weakness except for my mother and her tendency to sleep with men in their twenties. He simply couldn't understand how he could give me this wonderful life with all of its wonderful, material perks and I could still manage to screw it up.

In retrospect, he does have a point. I had been given every conceivable advantage and here I was, still managing to screw it up, albeit somewhat on purpose.

My family might have our dysfunctions, but at the root of it all, my parents did love each other. At least, they loved each other enough when they were in the same location. It was better than most. So what I should do is appreciate all I had been given and go about being a model citizen and over-achiever like my father wanted, and like I probably owed the gods of money, beauty, and intelligence for over- endowing me with all three.

Not that that would stop me from trailing after trouble like it was my god-given right as a spoiled rich bitch on a power trip.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Why can't I just serve in your classroom instead? You could say I was making up work so I can go to geometry next semester."

"Because you're being punished."

"For skipping a class here and there. I'm not failing anything."

Carlisle didn't look up from the stack of papers he was grading with quick, firm strokes of his green pen.

"You skipped class Rosalie. Grow up and accept that there are consequences for what you choose to do or not do."

I bristled at 'grow up.' I stopped lounging on his desk and snapped to attention.

"Coming from the man fucking the teenager, I'd say 'hi kettle, you're black.'"

"We aren't 'fucking'."

My stomach clenched as the swear word so disdainfully dropped from his lips onto the papers he was grading. I fought off a shiver and walked around his desk to push his chair away and straddle him as best as I could with the arm of the chair in my way.

"We could be." I leaned in and kissed his jaw lightly, moving down to his neck and moving his collar out of my way. "We could…."

"I have a department meeting in ten minutes."

I fought not to pout. I was the child in this relationship, but there was no need to make that point redundant. Boys in my life would drop everything for sex. The man in it wouldn't.

"I could give you something to think about while Dr. Strelitz is yammering on about imaginary numbers."

I reached down to squeeze him, but his hand caught and deterred my own.

That was okay. The feel of his fingers lacing through mine tightly was ten times headier than getting a guy off.

Jesus Rosalie, that was almost romance novel-esque. Get your head out of the clouds. Of course you want his dick. You just wouldn't mind if while you were getting that, his hand staying right where it was.

Christ, I was a basket case.

"Rosalie."

I could hear the lack of patience in his voice. And Dr. Carlisle had a saint's worth of patience.

I readjusted his collar and slid off his lap with a disappointed sigh. His hand lightly patted my ass as he breathed a bit easier and got up, reaching for his jacket.

"Make sure you finish the homework for tomorrow. We're having a quiz."

Work. I had just finished offering to blow him and he wanted to talk about math work.

I sat on top of one of the desks near the back of the room, my legs propped up on the back of the seat, laid out and dangling. I rested my weight on my hands and lolled my head to the side lazily.

Carlisle pretended not to notice.

"What's your first name?"

Carlisle shrugged into his jacket and began digging through his bag for the classroom keys. He paused to look at me quizzically. "You showed up to my house high as a kite last year, but you don't know my name?"

I flushed. "I may have overheard you telling Professor Harting about the construction on Penrose Avenue last fall that was making it impossible for you to get out of your own driveway."

From there it had merely been a matter of checking the mailboxes until I found one marked "Carlisle".

Carlisle's eyebrow went up and he wore that peculiar look of defeat that he seemed to wear whenever we spent too much time not fooling around. Well, that would show him to let me get on his cock so we didn't have these awkward little conversations. "Ambition the likes of which most of your peers will never know. It's too bad you're wasting it outside of a classroom."

And we were back to my "punishment" again.

"If you let me serve my three days in your room, I'll promise that I will never miss another one of your classes for as long as you are my teacher."

Sadly enough, if what Dean Regan said was true, that would be the end of December, at least until senior year of pre-calculus.

"If you promise never to skip another class, mine or not, I'll take you up on that offer."

I hesitated. I knew Carlisle was serious; he didn't take promises lightly.

The corners of his mouth crinkled in defeat as I stayed silent.

"Tell me your name." Who was kidding? I had no upper hand with this man? He resisted sex, he didn't care about labels or fathers or money. He didn't need me.

And that thought gutted me more than it should.

"I thought you had friends who could easily hack their way into those details for you."

"Teacher files aren't online; apparently our school believes in keeping paper files. Old fashioned and secure and whatnot. Tell me."

"Why?"

"Why not? Why won't you tell me? Is it some awful, traditional name like Ezekiel? Herman? Or do you just not want to tell me, just like you just don't want me in here for three days straight?"

The whine was evident in my voice and I flushed, realizing how immature I sounded. God, I was an embarrassment. Why did I have to be sixteen? Why couldn't I be twenty-three and perfect for this man who was right in front of me?

Carlisle rolled his eyes at my petulance, all penchant for teasing gone. "I have a meeting Rosalie. Go home."

What was I? A puppy? His little slutty puppy who was good for blowjobs and some dirty talk, but incapable of holding a conversation? Go home? Did he really just tell me to go home?

I pounced.

I hopped off the desk and pinned him to the wall next to the door, my arms on the wall on both sides of his hips.

"Let me suck you off."

God I was pathetic.

"Rosalie…" Carlisle was trying to pry my arms away to let him leave.

"All I want every second of the day is to be in this classroom, on my knees, with your cock in my mouth. I literally ache because I want you so badly."

I pressed myself against him, hips first. One of my legs pushed in between his.

His breathing sped up and his eyes were locked on mine.

"The meeting's started. I'm supposed to be there."

"I have dreams about having your cock inside of me."

I released one hand from the wall to cup him. He was getting hard.

"Tell me to get on my knees Carlisle, and I will."

He loved me on my knees. He loved to watch me, loved to push my head down on his dick. I began to sink down in my school uniform, unbuttoning my shirt as I went and loosening my tie.

I was every man's fucking fantasy and I was willing to be that and more for him.

Only him.

I nosed him through his pants and heard his head hit the wall behind him as he shuddered out a breath.

Hiding a triumphant grin I reached for his zipper.

His hand caught me and for the second time in fifteen minutes and pulled me away from the Promised Land.

I looked up and caught sight of his crystal blue eyes glaring down at me.

"Grow up Rosalie."

He tugged on his jacket and left me there, to go his meeting.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~

Which brings me back to "The Roast."

Get it? Bonfire, Thanksgiving on the Horizon, lots of fun being had at the underclassmen's expense?

I hadn't bothered to change out of my school clothes—I had thrown a hooded Olaf sweatshirt over my school skirt and added a pair of legging to keep me warm.

Alice had told me she would knit me a pair of mittens back in September when I was whining about how much I hated the dreary weather.

I could use a pair right about now; my fingers were freezing.

I watched from the periphery as the traditional parade of some of the central figures of the senior class appeared, already well-buzzed and glorying in their moment.

Tanya Denali was nowhere to be seen, and that brought a small smirk to my face.

Suck his dick again sweetheart and I'll send that tape to the recruiters at Harvard.

There were lawn chairs and "thrones" decorated for a variety of senior royalty, including the actual royalty—the Homecoming Queen and King. Sam(antha) DeLane was perched there daintily, with a plethora of shirtless freshman boys, who had actually carried her in on her chair like fucking Cleopatra. She, like every other girl here it seemed, was wearing a dress with leggings beneath it. It was like a gathering of the cult of wannabes.

Jackson Whitlock, the erstwhile King, had his palms on two asses already; one being his trashy freshman girlfriend and the other being a senior girl who really didn't have a name—most people just referred to her as "the one with the botched boob job."

I wondered if that ass was plastic as well.

A half dozen or so more of the senior class had been awarded the prestigious honor of sitting on the elevated "stage" of sorts the shop class had assembled. At the end of the night, that too would go into the gigantic fire. Probably right before someone started shooting off illegal fireworks.

The rest of the senior class stood crowded around the stage as the rest of us were forced to play the part of the captivated audience and the senior class's own personal set of jesters.

"Class of 2008!" One of the seniors bellowed and the entire ground nearly shook with the answering cheer.

First, as always, was the recognition of the seniors on stage. Whitlock got the loudest cheers, a fact that seemed to piss off Sam more than usual as she puffed out her chest and waved daintily. Each had something to say that relatively could be offered up as "school spririt", but we weren't fooling anyone. The speeches were not well-disguised arrogance about being rich, popular, and well connected.

A speech about the "awesomeness of me" in essence.

Enlightening.

I milled through the crowd ignoring the festivities on stage, and when someone handed me a twenty-ounce Mountain Dew bottle I accepted it and moved on, sipping at the sweet concoction that probably had three or four alcoholic substances mixed in with the Dew.

I watched as Emmett walked up on the stage and received some sort of acknowledgement that in two years, he would be the big man on campus from Whitlock. The boys slugged each other on the back and man-hugged before Jackson gave him the Burger King crown he was wearing and the crowd went wild.

And threw the cheering masses, I caught sight of Edward Cullen.

Edward Cullen, who almost never showed up at school events, with his arm around a spiky-haired rebel with blue streaks wearing a very familiar navy t-shirt that read, "Don't play with yourself—Join the St. Olaf's Marching Band!"

Alice.

Alice who was wearing ripped jeans that were clearly years old and so soft that they molded themselves exactly to her petite frame, and Edward's shirt, tied in the back. She wasn't even wearing a long-sleeved shirt underneath.

Crazy girl. It was freezing.

Edward's arm was around her and hanging lazily down, almost always brushing her boob as it swung as they made their way into the crowd. Alice was carrying a half-full bottle of "water" and was meeting the gaze of every person who got in their way.

The festivities were still going on; there was a group of freshman who were blindfolded and thought they would be participating in a caramel apple contest. The "apples" were actually onions. But as this was a prank that happened every year, most eyes had turned to look at St. Olaf's newest couple moved fluidly together, Alice's hand occasionally going to Edward's stomach to steady herself as she tried to see over the crowd of people who were head and shoulders taller than she was.

Edward's cocky smirk said it all.

I'm hitting that shit all day and all night.

You wish you were here.

She's a fucking nasty girl.

And Alice was smiling a small smile that was confident in a way I hadn't seen her before. Was it Edward? The booze? What was with that smile?

I didn't know. Neither did anyone else. But they all looked like they wanted to know.

Edward Cullen wasn't part of the core "crowd" of Olaf's hierarchy. His dad was one of the richest sons of a bitches in the country, but he refused to let himself be mooned over by the money-grubbers. The power-hungry trophy wives. He notoriously had a thing for slumming, almost as notorious as his ability to "find" certain pieces of information.

So he was one of us, but not. And people respected him because he didn't fit the mold, but he could still crush them with one raise of those perfectly arched eyebrows.

And if Alice could only benefit by association.

Smart girl.

Edward led them over to a group of sophomores, most of whom were "nice" kids—musicians like Edward, the intellectuals, the non-gossips. They looked startled, but after about five minutes I saw Alice lean over and ask Angela Weber something. She replied and before long Alice Brandon, the outcast of St. Olaf's, was a laughing and having a conversation with us, the trust-fund brigade, the enemy.

Not that those kids were the sharks. They were guppies.

Edward was a statistical mastermind. He knew everyone and had deliberately chosen this group to ease Alice's nerves, non-existent though they appeared to be. I hadn't ever thought of introducing her to the nerd-herd.

I rarely even noticed that particular clique of people. But Edward did, because he was a firm believer that everyone served a purpose.

Manipulative genius or manipulative bastard? It was close call.

I turned away from Alice, who would clearly learn the ropes with Edward at her side. Emmett had been right; I should stay away. My influence could only be negative at this point.

And speaking of the devil, my eyes caught sight of the wooly mammoth sucking face with one Lauren Mallory under one of the elms.

I glanced back, Alice hadn't noticed. Yet.

But I had a feeling that if she did, she'd flake.

I grabbed a hold of Spencer Clamm, one of the burn-outs who was one of Royce's clients.

"Heya Rosalie." He droned.

"Heya Spence. Will you do me a favor?"

"Only you do me one." His gap-toothed smile appeared and for once I was happy to know that Spencer was a complete dick-whore and had no interest in a favor unless I was wearing a strap-on.

"I'll give you a week's worth of weed money if you go over to where Emmett McCarty is contaminating himself with the plague that is Lauren Mallory, and make Lauren…leave. I'll leave the how up to you alright?"

"Two weeks."

"One and I won't tell Royce that you found yourself a new dealer when he comes back."

"One it is."

Spencer sidled up to Emmett and Lauren in his super-skinny jeans and smacked Emmett's ass with amazing force from a guy that skinny.

Lauren and Emmett jolted apart in amazement and Spencer looped his arm through Emmett's. I could see his rattle-trap mouth moving on wheels and Emmett's face flush dark puce.

Lauren was looking around, like she was hoping no one was watching.

Sorry sweetheart, you're on candid camera.

And finally Spencer must have hit paydirt. Lauren went running and her troll friends followed her as they headed back in the direction of the dorms. Spencer moved his hand, clapped Emmett on the shoulder in a true "no harm, no foul" gesture and motioned to me.

Asshole.

But expected.

Emmett mouthed a very clear "fuck you" at me and went back to his buddies and the fan club surrounding them.

Spencer headed back to me with a wide grin and an outstretched palm.

I downed him two hundred dollars and kissed him on the cheek.

"What finally made her leave? She's like a fucking leech, innit she?"

Spencer snorted. "That's an understatement. Butt plugs finally did her in. I asked Emmett if he was going to give mine back any time soon." He shrugged. "I'll be lucky if I don't get jumped after gym class."

"Some good quality weed will help, I'm sure." I replied dryly. "Thanks Spence. And hey, who's the new dealer?"

Spencer grinned. "Word on the block was that you weren't dabbling with us low-life wafers anymore Hale. Why do you need to know?"

Why indeed?

I took a swing of my Mountain Dew. "I want to send a thank you card to whoever is going to put Royce out of business when he gets back."

Spencer's grin faltered. "I'll pass along the message."

And then he was gone.

After very deliberately not telling me who was the new pusher on campus.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I tossed the cabbie some bills and told him to vamos.

The suburban two-story sitting back from the road was 50's esque, even in the middle of the night, just like I remembered.

I tossed the Mountain Dew bottle that was more than half full into the neighbor's bushes as I walked up the pathway and rang the doorbell.

It took three rings and fifteen minutes before Carlisle opened the door wearing plaid flannel pants, a Tulane t-shirt and his glasses.

He stared at me, his mouth set, his lips thin lines as I refused to shiver in the cold night.

His hand tightened around my arm and yanked me inside.

"Are you high?" He demanded, a sole lamp turned on in his foyer.

I shook my head mutely, watching him pace barefoot across the wood floor.

"Stoned?"

I shook my head again. Marijuana gave me a massive headache and a pair of thunder thighs from the munchies.

"Drunk?"

I touched both my index fingers to my nose and then back to my sides. I heard him sigh.

"Want me to a walk the line?" I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

"I want you to tell me what possessed you to do this. Again."

"I wanted to see you."

"If I wanted to see you at one thirty in the morning, I would have called."

"You don't have my number."

There was a poignant silence.

I chose to ignore it.

"How was your meeting?"

Carlisle didn't answer. He stalked into his kitchen and I followed, watching him grab the cordless phone and a phonebook.

"What are you doing?"

"Calling a cab."

"Don't." I grabbed the phone from him and put a hand on the top of the phonebook. "Let me stay."

"I made it perfectly clear this afternoon—"

"Bullshit. You don't make anything clear. If you don't want me say it. You'll have to say it because I'm told I'm pig-headed and stubborn and subtly is not my strongest suit apparently. But don't call me a fucking cab and then expect me to be all on your dick on Monday. You either want me or you don't. Now which is it?"

Jesus, I was doing this sober? What the hell was I thinking? I couldn't handle the truth, why was I demanding him to tell me? I wasn't brave enough to face the truth without heroin in my veins and alcohol in my bloodstream. **What the fuck was I doing?**

"I want you." He muttered, defeated. His hands settled on my hips. "I'm going to hell and throwing my career in the fire along with it, but I want you."

My eyes opened. I hadn't even realized I had closed them. Blue eyes were staring back at me.

His lips captured mine and I was never so happy to be captured, to not be the instigator, the leader. The one with their guts and their ass and their heart out on the line.

Someone else was out there on the line with me.

I whimpered and realized I was fighting back tears of relief and my hands fisted in his perfect blonde hair.

Shit I was reeling. My mouth, my hands, my body couldn't get enough.

His hands were squeezing me thighs and then they were under my ass, lifting me onto the counter and burying his head into his chest, groping my boobs and pinching the nipples.

This was the controlled, naughty little experiment from his classroom and our "tutoring sessions." This was uncontrollable. This was a wildfire. I could feel it in my spine as I tugged him back up to me and pushed my hands up his shirt to pull at the firm skin and muscle of his chest and arms. I could feel it as his palm came up to the base of my neck and twisted me up into his mouth so that all I could do was give him what he wanted. No other options, no escape.

No more hot and cold, jerking Rosalie around.

Into the fire.

Into a world where I could touch him like I wanted, all over me, inside of me, where I needed him most.

I clenched at the thought and shuddered.

Carlisle pulled away with dark, concerned eyes.

"Carlisle?" I whispered. Shit, I was shaking.

It was like being in withdrawal, except for the opposite.

This was addiction. I needed it. And I had it.

And now I faced the risk of losing it.

The shaking got worse and he bundled me up tighter and his lips moved over mine as I clenched him tightly to me.

This wasn't normal.

This wasn't sensical.

This wasn't possible.

This wasn't….what was this?

What was this?

I closed my eyes.

"I…"

Carlisle pulled back to study me, I could feel it. I could feel his eyes on my face, my body, my everything.

"This?" He whispered to me and his hand slipped under my skirt and leggings and underwear to rub me.

I exhaled but no sound came out. I nodded and leaned my head against his counters as he continued to rub me.

"This is what you need, isn't it? You're shaking for it."

I sniffled and nodded, arching with every deep rub of his fingers. "Inside, please."

Two fingers pressed high into me, as deep as they could go. My back bowed and my hand fisted into the grey material of his t-shirt.

I opened my eyes and focused on the black frames of glasses, the way his hair was disheveled from my hands, the pattern of greens and blues in his pants, the block letters of his alma mater, the intense look in his eyes as he pressed and rubbed and led me straight back into a hell of my own making.

"Oh. Oh…" I inhaled and jerked in his arms. I gritted my teeth, determined to make this last longer.

I kissed him and came apart in his mouth, sobbing and sniffling and in utter ecstasy.

I shuddered and clenched around his finger and reluctantly pulled back from the kiss when I was in danger of suffocating.

His eyes were waiting. His fingers were still deep inside of me, and his heart was on the table, just waiting for me to take.

"Fuck me. Turn me inside out. Make me see Jesus. Pound into me until I can't see anything else except _**you**_."

His lips curled into a smile and his fingers twitched. I hissed and my head fell back against the cupboards loudly.

"Connor?"

My head snapped back up.

Carlisle froze.

His fingers were still inside of me.

"Connor, who was at the door?"

Carlisle's eyes met mine. They were unreadable.

His hand slipped from me.

I could see them glistening with my wetness in the dark of the kitchen.

That bell-like, soprano voice would be the death of me if I had to hear it again.

I ran.

**A/N: The next chapter is the chapter I'm most excited for so far in this story. It's a game-changer! **


	17. A Bit of Impropriety

_**A/N: I just wanted to thank each and every person who has taken the time to sit down and read my story. Not even write a review (though those people earn my undying devotion) but just to read it. I know it's not trendy to be quite so OOC and non-canon on top of all of that, and I know sometimes my plot is everywhere and nowhere all at once, but I'm still very in awe of people wanting to know what happens. So thanks **__****_

_**Voting for the Eddies and Bellies begins tomorrow at **__**.net**__** and go until the 25**__**th**__** of Feb. Some really amazing authors deserve your support, as do Limona and WiththeVamps for their hard work in putting everything together. **_

_**Also, the deleted Indy scene (y'all know what I'm talking about) will be posted on my thread at the Twilighted board closer to the weekend (think Friday). I'm not submitting it (yet) because you can't over have one story waiting to be validated at a time and chapters come before smut. So check it out and maybe leave me a little love???? The link will also be on my profile because apparently it hates to show up in chapters (if anyone could tell me how to do this, that would be excellent).**_

_**.?f=44&t=1250**_

"_**Yesterday I dared to struggle. Today I dare to win."**_

Chapter 17: A Bit of Impropriety

The Shark Tank, unofficially named The Skank Tank by just about everyone, was a typical underage club. There were a bunch of community-college townies and a few creepy older men who were clearly there to perv out on the abundance of young, teen flesh in the room.

Everyone else was either from the Academy or the public school. It was hard to tell in this situation, where everyone was wearing their sluttiest, shortest, and most revealing clothing while gyrating on the dance floor in one mock orgy.

It was supposed to be eighteen and older, but the Academy kids paid a good cover and paid nearly double for anything with alcohol in it, so no one put up a fuss.

I was sitting in one of the booths in the corner near the dance floor, happily buzzed on the vodka that had been going around in water-bottle form at "The Roast", watching Edward holding two cups of "coca-cola" (that may or may not consist of more rum than soda) and talk to a dark-haired girl was in serious need of a shopping trip to replace her plain t-shirt and even plainer hoodie.

She had a hand on his arm and had stepped into his personal space, which admittedly, was a necessity thanks to the blaring of the latest bass-heavy club mix echoing through the club. Edward shifted his weight from foot to foot and barely made an effort to lean his head down to hear her.

I recognized disinterest when I saw it.

I turned back to my view of the dance floor, the grinding bodies and the number of girls who were clearly not wearing underwear beneath those tiny skirts, the leggings they had worn at The Roast nowhere in sight. I watched as Claire awkwardly swung her hips back and forth against some guy, and as Emmett attracted an insane amount of female attention as he stood at the periphery of the circle with a beer in hand. Girls would wiggle over and hold out their hands with pouty lips and naughty eyes, asking him to rub his dick all over their asses.

Emmett had taken one or two up on the offer, but only for a dance or two. Then he returned to his spot amongst his other, presumably rhythmically challenged friends.

A drink appeared in front of me and a warm arm wound itself around my waist, diving under the hem of "my" t-shirt, resting on top of the button of my jeans, running a thumb over the top of the denim and just barely brushing my skin.

The problem with this scenario was that the drink in front of me was a beer, in a bottle that was already half gone. And Edward had been carrying too tall glasses with rum and coke.

"Why hello angel-face. Didn't expect to see you here."

He was so close that those lowly-growled words were literally said into my neck as his nose brushed up my cheekbone.

Jackson Whitlock, the man of the night. Homecoming King, panty-dropper extraordinaire, and perpetual temptation for the female population at St. Olaf's, myself unfortunately included.

"Where's your boyfriend?" He asked, moving aside the collar of my shirt to sniff at me. His nose crinkled. "Angel, no offense, but you smell like dude." His lips jutted out in an unmistakable pout as he scooted about a half foot away from me. The hand that was still toying with the top of my jeans moved not a millimeter.

"Where's your girlfriend?" I said, slightly smug and disappointed that my smelling like Edward was repelling him.

"You need to keep up with the gossips better. Get Claire to give you a weekly report. I handed her off to Cole Barrett after the bonfire, who was very much appreciative."

"She's not a football."

"No, just another ho with a serious case of low self-esteem."

I swallowed hard and looked away. Didn't that describe everyone between the ages of fifteen and forty-five?

"You looked thirsty." Jackson said, nudging the beer towards me. "You're letting it get warm."

"Edward's getting me a drink."

Jackson sat up straight and stared directly at the spot where Edward was still standing with the brunette who didn't appear to know what a brush was. "I can see that."

I flushed and deliberately pushed the bottle back at him, crossing my arms and turning away from the rumpled, self-proclaimed sex god next to me.

The arm that was around me didn't allow it. His hand fisted in the front of my jeans and spun me back towards to him. He had closed the space between us so closely that I almost had to look up to see his glazed, toffee eyes.

His thumb was now beneath my jeans, skimming back and forth as I squirmed. He chuckled and his thumb hooked onto the elastic of my underwear.

"Is it a thong? Boy shorts? G-string? Tell me Alice, what exactly does the ex-good girl, now rebel wear under those jeans?"

I swallowed and suddenly wished I had taken the bottle so I could stall by taking a long drag. My tongue flicked out to wet both of my lips and I watched as his eyes flickered south and a low rumble came from his chest.

"Shit." He mumbled and his thumb travelled to my hip, plucking at the thin strap of material that was holding my underwear together. "Bikinis. What color?"

"Yellow."

God, I was moron. Who answers that question?

He paused for a split second and that heart-stopping smile made an appearance.

"Yellow. Not black, not lace, not white, not even fucking pink. Yellow. God I'd give just about anything to see those."

"Well, you can't." I mumbled, carefully _not_ looking at the completely aroused man-candy in front of me.

"But Cullen gets to, right? And McCarty before that? They got to see."

"Sure." I croaked out and finally relented and took the bottle from his idle fingers. Our fingers brushed and I tried to ignore him as I nearly finished the bottle off before setting it back down.

"But you won't let me see?" The thumb was moving again, and I was fighting not to fidget.

"…no." I said, out of breath.

"Wanna see mine?" Another wicked little boy grin appeared and my knees locked together momentarily before relaxing altogether.

I couldn't even speak; I just stared at him, my mouth open, trying to inhale air that wasn't completed tainted with Jackson Whitlock.

"Jax…" I muttered, trying to get my scrambled, buzzed wits about me. I tried to move away and was deterred by his hand halfway down my pants. Damn it I needed to be smarter than this….remove hand, then run away Alice!

"Sweet fucking Christ Angel, you can't get say my name like that and then bolt. Fucking hell."

His lips dipped to the side of my neck and ghosted across my skin. I made a squeaking sound and jumped a foot at the almost-contact.

"I've been dreaming about your mouth on me for weeks. I've got this wicked little fantasy about those pink, girl lips of yours wrapped around my dick. You're just so into it and then, when I can't take it anymore, you pull away and I come all over that sweet angel-face of yours."

God, his drawl was making me ache. The way his accent lingered over the word 'dick' and drew it out. I didn't even care that that was the most degrading thing I had ever heard, I was a goner.

"No one's watching, you could just…."

And then I realized the hand that was still in my jeans was tugging me down further in the booth, until my toes hit the ground and I realized what exactly he wanted. My eyes flew up to his face and I scrambled to regain my purchase on the seat.

"Oh come on angel face. You'd do it for Cullen and McCarty. What's one more cock to suck in the long-run?"

And before I could properly process what exactly he had been implying, Jax was gone.

Literally.

Lifted out of the seat.

By The Hulk.

Who wasn't green, but he was a severely pissed-off offensive lineman by the name of one Emmett McCarty.

And then there was suddenly a hand on my elbow as I was tugged out the other end of the booth and pulled into the protective (albeit mildly skinny) arms of Edward Cullen, who was sans drinks at this point.

Emmett shoved Jackson and he stumbled, but stayed upright. I don't know how, but it was a testament to how much alcohol the boy could tolerate. An unimpressive testament, but a testament nonetheless.

"What the fuck Whitlock?"

Jax grinned apologetically. "Sorry man, didn't realize she was still fucking _you_. I wasn't scamming on your cunt, I swear. She's not worth the brotherhood. I thought she was with Cullen."

Edward's jaw clenched, as did his fists, which were really not terrifying in the face of an extremely irate Emmett.

The vein in Emmett's forehead was in danger of having its own zip code, it was so large. He shoved Jackson again, but this time Jackson's arms came up to doing his own shoving at the muscles that were clearly bulging beneath Emmett's button-up. He didn't do much, but the message was clear. He wouldn't take much more of this.

"That doesn't make it okay." Emmett growled. "Keep your fucking hands off her."

Jackson's smile tightened. "She wants my hands on her. She's probably dying for some good dick after the two of you two-pump chumps. She was practically drooling over the thought of getting me off under the table. My thanks to you both, I would have never looked twice at her hillbilly, alligator ass if the two of you weren't panting over her like she had magic twat."

I gasped and this time it was me who did the shoving. I pushed myself away from Edward and ducked under Emmett's massive forearms to stand in front of Jackson Whitlock.

His smirk was cruel and expectant and I realized, with startling clarity, that dozens of girls (if not dozens of dozens) had probably thought to tell Jackson Whitlock off in one form or another and that no matter what I said, no matter what speck of truth or witty retort that I came up with, he'd brush it off and continue on with his life.

There was nothing I could say to him that would dent that cocky, misogynist use-em-and-lose-em exterior. Some day someone might, but I was just another chick he wanted to conquer and then crow about. Anything I said would merely be indiscernible clucking and hen-pecking.

So I punched him in the balls instead.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"What the fuck was that?!?!?!?!"

Edward shoved me into the backseat of one of the cars that was heading back to campus. We had been driven to the bars in some senior's car, but I recognized the guy driving the car we were currently in. Reddish hair, blue eyes, goofy grin.

Garrett.

"Cullen! Your chick is insane! That was awesome!" Garrett chortled. "Whitlock has had that coming for years."

I was vaguely aware of the hand Garrett reached back to extend for me to high-five, but I ignored him and crawled into Edward's lap instead. The kid sitting in the backseat driver's side next to us was already passed out, head against the cold window. Another guy I faintly recognized as a senior was in the passenger seat, watching us curiously through the rearview mirror.

Edward's green eyes met mine and his eyebrows went up. I smiled at him brightly, the thrum of adrenaline from leaving Jax Whitlock curled up on the floor in agony still ripping through my already buzzing bloodstream.

I smiled even bigger at the memory of the delayed look of shock and then complete and utter pain bursting over his ridiculously good-looking face before he crumpled. I unsuccessfully stifled a giggle.

"What _was_ that?" Edward murmured quietly, too quietly for the spectators in the front to hear. My back was to them now, but the way Edward's eyes kept darting to the side meant that they were in fact hanging on to every word, touch, and movement we made.

And for once, I simply couldn't bring myself to care.

I shrugged and wrapped my arms around his neck, settling one knee comfortably on either side of his lap as his hands plucked at the holes and tears in my oldest pair of jeans.

Earlier that afternoon, long before I had ever contemplated punching anyone in the balls, Edward had been waiting for me as I returned from the library, looking slightly incredulous that I hadn't noticed the signs and posters for The Roast over the past couple of weeks. He was dressed in an olive green t-shirt, a black jacket and black jeans, hair more orderly than usual, signifying he was attending a social function of some sort.

He told me to get dressed and I refused. I didn't want to go to any social functions, especially not ones with the potential for humiliation.

Edward had tugged me onto the bed, rolled on top of me and laid out his plan while pulling off my shoes, tugging at my tie, and unbuttoning my school shirt.

It was simple, he had explained. We're going to make a statement. He promised he wouldn't let a soul go near me unless I approved it first, and he guaranteed that no one would attempt to make me part of The Roast.

On his honor as a Cullen.

He would keep me safe until I felt confident enough to be without him.

It was all very mama bird of him really, and while I felt like a baby needing a blankie, the offer truly was too good to refuse.

So I accepted, and Edward rolled off of me and told me to get dressed, unless I wanted to request another activity that would result in us staying indoors for the rest of the evening.

I had rolled my eyes, seriously considered it for about a half of a second, and then pushed myself up to ponder what I had with me that would be suitable attire for an elaborate bonfire.

My entire closet (now taking up even less space than in Rosalie's closet) was pathetic. It was all useless.

So I raided Edward's side of the closet (who had pouted when I demanded space for my belongings) and pulled out the softest cotton tee I had ever come across. It was fairly narrow and mildly perverse.

It was perfect.

I knotted the extra fabric in the back and dug out my favorite pair of jeans that had once been whole, not torn fashionably by the designer for an additional eighty dollars. Those rips and tears were proof that I was a country girl, and tonight I felt like showing my roots.

Edward's eyebrows had gone up when he saw me, but from the way he smacked me on the butt and then draped himself all over me during the bonfire, I'd guess he approved of the tactical maneuver.

He was certainly approving now.

There was one hole that I had been forced to patch up in my beloved jeans—one of the back pockets had ripped at the bottom, leaving my ass a bit chilly if there was a breeze.

I had stitched the rip, but Edward's clever fingers had found the stitching. His breath stuttered. His finger plucked at the thin line of thread and squirmed and giggled at the absurdity of…everything.

Edward Cullen, who owned original recordings of world-renowned jazz artists, who had paid to have his own personal baby grand piano air lifted to St. Olaf's to the third floor of Eliza Kelly, who had a clothing collection to make most Barbies envious, was turned on by my ripped jeans and haphazard stitching job. And my ass too, apparently, if only by default.

His other hand was doing that thing to my neck that I so enjoyed. Running up and down the length of it, pressing and stroking and occasionally finding its way into my hair to pull or tug me this way or that as I let him have his way with my mouth.

His mouth was slanting this way and then that over mine, pushing my jaw wider, nibbling at my bottom lip, crashing against my teeth as I smiled in stupid bliss.

"Alice." He breathed when my hands finally woke up enough to move to press against his chest, gathering the fabric in my hands as the shirt moved upwards enough for me to slide my hands beneath and rest them on his chest. My hands must be cold—we had spent nearly fifteen minutes looking for someone who was driving (soberly) back to campus, all the while looking over our shoulders for Jax or one of his cronies.

Cronies.

That's a funny word.

I giggled and leaned my head against his shoulder to muffle my laughter.

Shit, I couldn't stop.

Edward eventually pried me away from his jacket as I shook with laughter and frowned quizzically at me.

"You okay?"

I crooked my pointer finger up between us and met his slightly amused, slightly concerned gaze.

"C'mere."

"Alice, you're sitting on top of my stiff dick and I can see your nipples through your shirt in the dark. I think we're close enough."

I snorted and then covered my mouth.

"That's hilarious." I managed out between riffs of what my father used to call "belly laughs."

Apparently Edward was familiar with the belly laughs because his hands tightened on my hips as I jerked and jiggled and felt the evidence of his erection on the inside of my widespread thighs.

His head fell back against the seat.

And I swear to god I tried to so hard to be still….but it's hard with that thing poking me in the leg!

A thought which promptly set me off on another tangent of laughter.

"Alice…" Edward asked through gritted teeth. "What was it you were going to say?"

I could tell he was expecting me not to remember, but to be still and think about what profound thought I had been about to drunkenly expunge from my brain.

Well, drunks didn't use expunge correctly in sentences, and they definitely didn't launch full scale seductions in front of an audience of three (two not counting the sleeping dead next to us) horndog, gossipy males watching our every move.

"I want. Your dick." I whispered in his ear, very careful not to let Perve 1 and Perve 2 in the front hear me.

Edward's hips left the seat of the car.

I grabbed onto the first thing I could reach—his hair—and held on for dear life.

"Son of a bitch." Edward winced and he hips retracted. I petted his head and began to rub the scalp where I had pulled.

"Oh…oh.." Edward shuddered and froze.

I froze too.

"Did you just…" I whispered.

"No." He hissed back at me.

"Are you sure? Because I remember the last time and…"

"Alice!" Edward erupted, much louder than I had been and my wide eyes met his…black ones.

The black of his pupil had all but swallowed any color that once was there.

I swallowed audibly.

"Sit still. Do not move another centimeter until we get back to Olaf's. And for god's sake Garrett, turn up the fucking heater!"

His eyes were now practically burning a hole through his shirt in search of my nipples.

Apparently it had been the wrong day to wear my comfortable t-shirt bra.

It was another four minutes before Garrett pulled his car into the student parking lot and turned to look at us with a wide smile.

"Be safe kids."

Edward and I both flipped him the bird as I pushed on the door handle and practically tumbled from the car as Edward pushed me off of his less hard, but still half-flagged cock.

We walked as fast as possible to our room. While Edward was unlocking the door, I was about to Chuck Norris that bitch out of the way so I could dive under the covers and warm up.

Edward paused before turning the doorknob.

"What's going on?"

"What do you mean?"

"Are you drunk? Freaked out about Jax? He won't press charges, and it was off campus, so Dean Regan won't be able to—"

"Edward. Shut up and fuck me."

I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him hard, pushing him into the room. He stumbled back a few steps before wrapping his arms around me, pulling me against him. I opened my mouth and he shoved his tongue in my mouth. I could feel his intensity as he grabbed my ass and pushed me against his pelvis and against the erection that had rejuvenated itself in about three point five seconds.

He finally pulled away and stared down at me, pushing my hair out of my face. "You're drunk."

"Shut up." I pushed my hands up his shirt and tugged it up his chest. "No talking. Just fucking."

He grinned. "Don't have to tell me twice."

It was a teasing banter, less than half serious as we crashed onto the bed and I lost my breath as his weight jostled me in the ribs. Edward leaned back after a moment and pulled his shirt over my head. It went flying into the laundry basket.

The man was a neat-freak. It was almost disturbing.

My bra went next, after a few fumbling tries. He went for the jeans next, but I deterred him, not ready to let go of my comfort yet. "Shoes."

Edward shot me an aggrieved look, but proceeded to untie my sneakers and pull them off, before kicking his own off and beginning with his articles of clothing.

He pushed his shorts down and they got tangled in a heap at his ankles. He stumbled towards me, his confident stride ending abruptly.

I smiled, amused, trying not to laugh as I moved back on the bed, resting against the headboard. He paused to kick his shorts off before staring at me.

"Don't laugh," he said, biting back his own smile.

For a guy who seemed so self-assured about getting girls, he was a klutz when he was nervous. Or horny. Or both.

I did nothing to hide me smile as he approached the bed again, this time pants-free. He leaned over to grab my ankles and pull, causing me to slide down the bed until my legs were wrapped around his waist. The button on my jeans was popped and I wriggled myself higher onto the bed.

I yanked his shirt over his head while he tugged until my pants and yellow bikinis were gone, leaving us both naked and nervous and insanely turned on.

I bit my lip to cut off a gasp as he palmed my breasts and rubbed my nipples, which were still hard from being so cold. He fell into me then, kneeling on the bed as I was forced to slide my feet up his thighs, then to his hips to make room for his body between my legs.

He glanced down between us and grinned.

His fingers found me quickly, rubbing against me with his entire palm and my hips jerked. I wanted him to put his fingers inside of me, to kick up that heat and make me writhe, but he refused.

I outright begged him, but he just kept rubbing my clit harder until I was certain every last bit of blood had left my brain and gone directly to my clit.

My thighs began to shake and I could hear him encouraging me, coaxing the orgasm out of me, and I just wanted to scream at him to put his fucking fingers in me and and—

Holy Jesus---fuuuck.

Two fingers lodged themselves in as deep as they could go and I howled in relief as he tipped me right over the edge, my insides clenching onto his fingers like they were a life preserver in a hurricane.

My entire body collapsed backwards and it felt like I was in one of those dreams where you fall and wake up to find yourself still in bed, clearly not plummeting through mid-air.

My eyes snapped open and tension returned to my body as I felt Edward shift, lying heavy and intimidating against my thigh.

He had just finished rolling a condom onto his cock.

I slid my hands down the front of his shoulders to his chest, watching him as he took his tip and began to rub the tip against my clit, making me twitch and shudder while he lubed his dick up with the remnants of my little trip to the Magic Kingdom of Sex.

He didn't ask out loud if I was ready, but his eyes rarely ever stopped tracking my state. I could tell by the focused way he was staring at me as the tip pressed into me and there was suddenly that unbearable pressure at the base of my spine.

I couldn't tell if it was unbearably painful, or unbearably arousing. I just knew it was unbearable there, not moving.

He pushed until he could go no further and his eyes clenched tightly shut.

"Relax." He whispered.

I breathed and he inched it another centimeter.

I tensed and his entire weight fell upon me.

I inhaled him and felt his mouth on my breasts, still kneeling and still looking like he was trying not to combust.

His fingers reached down to my clit and began to rub soft circles around the swollen nub.

My breathing went scarce again and I lost myself in the fact that this….this was fun. And good and oh wow…so good.

Edward's eyes opened to burn holes into my retinas. One of his hands was bracing himself over my right shoulder, the other was still rubbing me as his hips worked me onto him, worked the friction to yet a higher level.

He was a burning man, and I was being singed by his heat.

"Edward," he whispered. "Say it."

"Edward," I whispered back and then whimpered a groan out of my system as my head fell back and my eyes threatened to close.

He cradled my head and gave me a crooked grin that was tight around his eyes.

"Louder." He gave me a playful smile.

"Edward," I said a little louder and was rewarded by a long, deep thrust that made my clench my legs around his middle and reach around to his back to hold on.

The pace picked up and we bounced and smacked into each other as we struggled to find our own ending to this unfathomable build, the other person be damned.

I wanted mine, and I didn't care if he needed me to call him "daddy" if it meant I'd go over that ledge again.

"Louder," he mumbled, his teeth digging into my shoulder as I scored his neck and pulled his hair with my useless, tingling fingers.

"Edward," I moaned loudly, trying not to let him hear the laugh in my voice.

He was such a little narcissist.

He slammed into me and I ached nearly backwards in half, a scream being ripped from my chest as I tried to comprehend just how deep he was in me.

"Oh," I whimpered. "Don't stop."

"Shit," he grunted.

The hand that had been rubbing my clit abruptly stopped as both hands pressed into the mattress as his hips jerked wildly into me and his face buried itself into my neck once more.

God, yes. Faster. Keep going. Please keep going…please…

His body tensed and then shuddered, collapsing to my side as a litany of swear words poured from his mouth and he withdrew, his hand on the base of the condom.

The condom went in the trash as he rolled and returned to me. His fingers once again found me and slid easily inside.

I finished mere minutes later and we stared at one another, dripping and smelling like sex and sweat and looking like drug addicts with our dopey smiles and glazed eyes.

The score was currently my two orgasms to his two orgasms. In the morning I would have to see about a tie-breaker.

But for now, I would happily wait until all feeling returned to my toes.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A/N: Next chapter is called "Fallout."


	18. Fallout

_A/N: So…I have good news and bad news. Bad news first. Jasper's part in this tale once again got cut. As in…severely cut. My apologies, but I've got enough muffed-up people running around, throwing one more in the pot now would just…be insanity._

_K, good news. This sucker is 8300 words long and I totally gave away TWO (if not more) major things in this chapter. Serious spoilage. The last scene of this chapter? Was pulled from what was originally shaping up to be Chapter 20 (which is now dismantled and I must begin again from scratch). So enjoy the bonus, otherwise it might have been a long wait._

"_**Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape.**__**"**_

~William S. Burroughs

Chapter 18: Fallout

I woke up on Sunday, after two days of relentless homework, followed by relentless attempts to get back in my pants, followed by more relentless homework. I was sore and tired and my Espanol homework still needed to be written.

I woke up, checked the clock, listened briefly to the angry howl of mid-November wind outside, and used my foot to shove Edward's hairy naked thigh and morning wood over to give me a little breathing room.

He grunted and buried himself further into his pillow.

It was almost noon. My books were spread out all over the desk and all around the computer. They called to me, but not loudly enough.

I too retreated into my pillow and succumbed to a little more shut eye.

When I awoke again, it was because Edward was muttering curse words as his phone rang in his pants from…Friday? Thursday?

We hadn't left the room much since returning home from the Skank Tank.

The noise finally stopped and I glared at him.

"Time is it?" I muttered, blinking wearily. With all the cloud coverage, it was impossible to identify the time of day.

"Two o' eight." Edward said, and settled himself on his back.

Holy shit.

"Holy shit." I said out loud. "I've never slept that long."

Edward shrugged. "It's Sunday. What else are you supposed to do? Get dressed up in your white gloves and hat? Go to church?"

Eerily enough, if I was still back in Biloxi, that was pretty close to what I would have been doing, minus the gloves and hat.

"You don't go to church?"

"At Christmas. And only because it's practically a social event. Everyone shows up just to nod to one another and point out how pious they are."

"You don't believe in…whoever's out there?"

Edward turned to stare at me, hogging the covers and propped on the majority of the pillows.

"You're a Baptist, aren't you?"

"Don't go assuming anything just because I'm from the Bible belt."

"I call it like I see it. And I personally see a girl whose mother would be sprinkling holy water from a blessed palm branch on her little devil child because she's swimming in sin of the worst kind. Sins of the flesh and all."

His hands groped up my thighs mockingly and I jerked away. My jaw stiffened and the sarcastic teasing hit just a little too close to home for any good attempt to brush off the banter as stupid, sleep-induced ramblings.

The fingers that had been trailing up my leg now rest on my knee as he stilled.

"Alice. I didn't mean…shit."

"Yes you did. And at least my sinful ways don't require me to constantly run into past conquests, or future ones at that."

"Um, did you conveniently forget about Emmet? Or Jax, for that matter?"

"I haven't slept with either of them."

Edward's eyebrow arched involuntarily, almost like a twitch, and we could both read his mind.

_But you might._

I rolled out of the bed, thankfully completely clothed, and set about grabbing my brush and yanking through my tangled hair.

"So who was she anyway? The girl who just couldn't take a hint at the bar?"

Edward watched me as he stayed sitting in his bed, naked for no other purpose than displaying how disgustingly beautiful he was.

"That was Bella." He answered evenly and I waited just the right amount of time before mildly nodding and going back to my brushing.

"Looking for another threesome, was she?"

Edward snorted, but didn't dignify my question with an answer, which was infuriating because he was clearly not going to give me any details.

I swallowed my pride and sat in his desk chair, swiveling it to look at him.

"She…I bet Rosalie hated her." It was the first time I had said anything to anyone about Rosalie out loud.

"Rosalie saw right through her and still couldn't contain her vanity long enough to see that Bella was a…well-placed distraction."

Wait, a what now?

"That's… flattering." I tied my hair into two pigtails as I watched him watch me. "Does Bella know you speak of her so lovingly?"

Edward chuckled in that strangely attractive, self-deprecating way of his. He rubbed his palms against the sheet besides him and leaned his head back to stare at the ceiling.

"Bella lives under the illusion that I am very easily led around by a part of my anatomy that I shouldn't name because there's a lady in the room."

I rolled my eyes at the evasive maneuver. "She does have evidence to support that theory."

"Alice, I'm sixteen. Anyone with a viable pair of tits gives me a hard-on."

"You know, this conversation is really fascinating. And bonus, it's also super flattering to _me_."

Edward's eyes snapped to me in agitation that I wasn't able to follow his train of thoughts via the cryptic, evasive bullshit pouring through his mouth.

"It should be fascinating to you, so listen up. Bella, just like any number of other females with a quarter of a brain, has come to the conclusion that I am just like my father."

"Wow. You have parents. And I hear I was thinking you just kinda emerged from the GQ model factory one day." I trilled with as much sarcasm and southern accent as possible.

Edward's eyeroll was far more superior and classy than my venom verbosity.

"My father has a wife. She is the product of a school just like this, groomed to be everything the wife of an investment tycoon should be. He despises her of course. He once told me he updates divorce papers every six months or so with all the prenuptial details, just in case he decides to get rid of her.

Then, at the age of fifty he walked into one of his clubs—cigars, brandy just because no one else ever drinks brandy, newspapers from all over the world—you get the picture. And working the late night shift was a twenty-four year old cocktail waitress. The old man…well he was a goner. Not love at first sight, but perhaps just possessiveness. After all, he was worth nearly half a billion dollars, and that back in 1990, well before the internet economic boom.

The waitress, Elizabeth, was a smart woman. Smarter than my father's wife anyway. She didn't just lay on her back right away. She made the old man work for it. When she found out she was pregnant and that I was a boy she approached him and my father happily complied to pay her enormous checks to keep custody of me. I am, after all, the male heir to the Cullen estate, and my dad does take pride in being able to have a son when he's clearly not the youngest bull in the coral anymore. Elizabeth just had the good sense to take advantage of the one weakness he has and exploit it to the fullest.

Unfortunately, this story is common knowledge and already the bees are gathering. They think I'll have inherited the same weakness for a wonder bra'ed rack and legs than span a mile. Thank god I was born with my mother's common sense on that front."

I frowned, more at the disbelief that anyone could be thankful for such a mercenary sense of self than the rest of the tale. I must be adjusting to Olaf's; I didn't even feel pity for Edward. He clearly wasn't affected by this twisted tale, so why should I fawn all over it just because a cocktail waitress had found a way to turn the system on its ass?

"So you're saying Bella…"

"Bella is an exceptionally intelligent person who is looking for someone to fund her college education to NYU. And I'm personally leaning towards giving her that."

"What?!?!" I yelped.

"She's proven an effective barrier between myself and the greedy, grabbing hands of the females here. Not to mention all the sex. The charade she performs in the name of rebellion promotes the idea that I get off on the idea of slumming. For that matter, you also serve my purpose quite soundly as well. Better than Bella even, because you'll turn out to best them all if Thursday night was any indication."

'_He despises a lot of the girls here, not really sure why. I think he's got some kind of kink for slumming.'_

How prophetic Rosalie's words would turn out to be.

"I'm so glad that I could be of service to you. Literally. Figuratively. Hell, you must have died in glee when Rosalie suggested this little scheme, huh?"

I slammed down my brush and stomped into the bathroom, grabbing jerkily for my toothbrush.

Edward appeared seconds after I had begun to furiously brush.

"I told you before this whole thing started that I would want things from you. You took it to mean sex, and while that does hold definite sway in terms of that arrangement, for me it was always more about having someone around that wasn't interested more in my bank account balance than me personally."

I spit and stared at him in the mirror, which was satisfyingly bigger than the one in Rosalie's room.

"Except that you have no personality. You're Mr. Mysterio with your cryptic shit and your crazy, hypnotic eyes. You're all ego and arrogance and…hair. I've been sleeping with you and the most damning thing I know about you is that you see phalluses everywhere you go."

And I was pretty sure he was just bamming me on that too.

Edward ran a frustrated hand through said hair, and I went back to brushing.

"I…I thought that when I agreed, I could use my position to get to know someone better. If I was officially claimed, by two people nonetheless, that I could go about…"

And to my amazement, Edward Cullen _blushed_.

"You could go about trying to date someone." I said, spraying the mirror with little, foamy green specks in my shock. "You _like_ someone. In that completely fifth grade, I want to send you a schmoopy valentine and awful conversation hearts while holding your hand under the table way…_you_ like someone."

In retrospect, it should have probably alarmed me that I was more excited about Edward, the guy I was currently boning, having a crush on someone, than I was hurt, resentful, or jealous.

But it didn't.

Because I was still slack-jawed over the fact that Edward Cullen was admitting (out loud!) that he was shyly trying to woo somebody, all while being mixed up in a completely bizarre, fucked-up triangle of sex, betrayal, and power games.

Still.

If you shook off the latter part, that shit was romantic.

I rinsed all the crap out of my mouth and stuck my toothbrush back in its travel case.

"Who is she?"

"Alice." Edward protested.

"You can't just tell me you're crushing on a girl and then not tell me who."

Edward vehemently shook his head. "I can do just that. Besides, it clearly didn't work."

"Right, because you ended up with me, living out your fantasies as written and acted out by Steven Spielberg and Harrison Ford."

Edward groaned and pulled me into his chest. "That's the most ridiculous thing I think I've heard you say."

I shrugged and wrapped my arms around his slender hips.

"I'm sorry it didn't work out. It still might."

Edward ignored and released me.

I slipped out of the bathroom, grabbed my things, and went out in the daylight for the first time since Thursday, deep in thought.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On Monday morning I left a sleeping Edward on his side of the bed (there had been an awkward silence surrounding us since his confession) to get to detention by seven.

The usual crowd of burn-outs were already established, and they broke into a round of applause for me as I came rushing through the doors.

The librarian, a pinched-looking man, frowned and shushed us all, as he was the detention monitor for the day.

Five minutes after seven, the door opened and Emmett McCarty strolled through those doors, holding a detention slip and not at all apologetic for being late.

Once again the crowd erupted and I frowned. Yes, Emmett was well-liked by everyone, but really? Were we cheering because he was late to detention on a Monday morning?

Or because he was also involved at the scene of the "crime" on Thursday night?

Emmett walked by my table like I didn't exist and sat with his back towards me, ignoring the librarian informing him that he would probably have to serve another detention for being tardy to this one.

I could see a few people pat Emmett on the back as they got up to get a drink of water or find a book from one of the library shelves.

I kept my nose buried in my latest sketch for art class and tried to ignore the wealth of winks, grins, and thumbs-ups that were directed his way.

As the warning bell rang at 7:57, we were released and quite a crowd of people surrounded me to congratulate me or gape in awe. Emmett was gone before I could even get to him, to thank him for being there to pull Jax off of me, even though I was perfectly capable of handling it myself.

~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*~*

Halfway through the school day I realized why everyone was congratulating Emmett.

I was running, literally sprinting in my skirt and blazer, having forgotten my stupid homework for sixth period geometry, when I caught sight of something that stopped me dead in my tracks.

Jackson Whitlock's head swiveled to look at me.

Our gazes locked.

Well, one of his eyes locked with the both of mine.

The other couldn't because it was swollen shut in one of the nastiest shiners I had ever seen.

Literally, even his cheekbone was black and blue and green and yellow and gross.

There was only one fist that I was aware could do that much damage.

A math whiz, I may not be, but it wasn't hard to put two and two together.

Jackson scowled at me and his freshman girlfriend draped herself over him, hissing 'bitch!' at me as I remembered that I would be late if I did not run faster than the speed of light back to Edward's dorm.

I started forward again, wondering.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Did you know that Emmett smashed in Jackson Whitlock's face?"

Half of the school population would be so disappointed if there was permanent structural damage.

"Of course I knew."

I stared at Edward. "It didn't occur to you to tell me?"

Edward shrugged. "No. Emmett took care of it. And if Emmett hadn't, I would have."

I gaped at him and he politely ignored me as he gathered his sheet music and headed towards Eliza Kelly for orchestra rehearsal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I existed in a bubble of awe and dubious popularity that week. Girls were either making friendly overtures (the Ex-Jax-Snatch-Pack as I dubbed them) or spreading rumors about how I was with Emmett, Edward, and Jax all at the same time (those who wished Jax would show an interest in their snatch).

None of these rumors were really tragic though. People already assumed the worst of me, and as most people were willing to see it, at least I gave them something to talk about.

Until Thursday.

One week away from Thanksgiving and everyone was starting to get antsy for the week-long break with only two school days left to go, and the entire world came crashing down in a fit of gossip and shattered pieces of glass.

It was just another Thursday.

Until it wasn't anymore.

It all began as I raced from detention to class, and found the halls fuller than usual.

Instead of people rushing into classrooms to avoid a tardy, the hallways were filled with people, all completely immersed in their conversations, apparently not caring if they were marked tardy or not.

I went to my locker and tried to listen in on the conversations next to me.

"completely ballistic…"

"looked like she hadn't slept in weeks."

"heard she's been in a mental institution for the past couple of days…"

"psychotic freak out"

"eyes…they were…"

"insane"

I snapped my locker shut and headed to my American Lit class. The bell had rung, but only about six students were present.

The teacher grumbled and began the lesson, even as students finally began filling in the seats, still whispering.

"scratches down her arms…"

"out of dress code"

"hair looked like it hadn't been washed"

"twitching and shaking"

"hasn't spoken to anyone"

I stared at my notebook, a feeling of dread crawling up inside of me as the whispers seemed to grow louder. They practically echoed off the walls with the electrical currency. The entire room was buzzing.

"rage"

"like a fucking schizo"

"…looked like shit at The Roast…"

"complete mental breakdown"

My pen began to bleed blue ink as I pressed too hard on the paper. It stained my forefinger and thumb, and was soaking through pages of important notes.

I cursed under my breath and tried to focus.

The whispers didn't stop.

The bell rang and I followed my classmates out the door.

My Spanish class was in the next building over and I didn't even have to go outside. I merely had to worm my way through the crowds who were still chattering excitedly, like vicious dogs with a chew toy they couldn't put down.

I got to Spanish early and wished that I had a class with Edward so I could ask him what was going on.

The bell rang and I was aware that the class was silent, almost like we were waiting with baited breath for something.

Even the Senora seemed puzzled and quiet by the gathering tension. She instructed us quietly to get out our homework and pass it forward.

Rosalie Hale appeared in the doorway.

Except that it was not the Rosalie Hale that I knew.

Not even on top of that piano, mascara running down her cheeks, strung out on deadly drugs Rosalie resembled the person who was sitting down in the back row, throwing her book onto her desk with a noisy thump, and then plopping her ass in the seat.

She looked…wrecked.

Broken.

Wrecked.

She was pale. Pale in a way that could only come from sickness or some other unnaturalness, because Rosalie Hale had a superior tan year-round. But this Rosalie was pale and her face was twisted into a bitter grimace that pressed her usually fully lips into chapped, ragged, thin lines.

Her hair was matted to her head, dangling limply down her shoulders, and there were deep rims of old make-up crusted beneath her eyes, highlighting the purple circles that implied she hadn't been sleeping.

And her uniform, what she had donned of it, was wrinkled like she had been wearing the same outfit for days, possibly weeks. Her tie was crookedly hanging in a loose circle around one shoulder, and her shirt was misbuttoned, jacket nowhere to be seen. The sleeves were rolled up, and there were indeed scores of nail marks on her usually flawless skin. Her dress shirt was untucked and her skirt was rolled to the point of being indecent. Her black tights had numerous runs. Her nails were bitten.

And she didn't care.

There was a deadness in her face that spoke volumes of just how much she didn't care.

Even the teacher stared.

Perfect Rosalie Hale.

Rosalie Hale, who valued her mask more than she did the person beneath, sitting there, staring with blank eyes at the rest of us staring back.

Daring us to comment to her face on her appearance.

Smirking from beneath a hood of some emotion lurking in the back of her eyes, categorically staring each and every one of us down, as we were unable to look away from her.

That had always been the appeal of Rosalie Hale, though. Perfect or not, scandalous or not, beautiful or not, we couldn't look away from her.

Even in her despair, even in her blankness, she was captivating.

The intercom beeped, ending the trance we had all fallen in.

"Senora Delgado, is Rosalie Halie in your class?" The secretary's voice was hesitant and lacking its pleasant monotonous tone. That was a bad sign.

"Yes. Shall I send her down to the office?"

"I believe Professor Carlisle requested that she go to his room."

I sucked in a sharp breath and my head whipped around to stare at Rosalie.

She was staring down at the desk in front of her.

"I'll send her down immediately." Senora pressed the button and turned to Rosalie. "Miss Hale."

Rosalie didn't move.

"Miss Hale. You need to go back to Kessler Building and see Professor Carlisle."

Rosalie budged not an inch.

"No."

I closed my eyes, and pieces of the puzzle began to form a tentative shape.

"Pardon?"

"I said no." Rosalie repeated clearly, prettily, in a soft, pleasant tone that only brightened the hard edge of panic her face had taken on, as her hands clenched the sides of the desk.

Senora Delgado bristled. "It was not a request. You will go."

"I'd prefer not to, thank you."

The class tittered, but not loudly enough to block out one syllable between Rosalie and the teacher.

Senora Delgado pressed the intercom button once again.

"Yes?" Came the expectantly defeated voice.

"Miss Hale is refusing to go. Shall I send her up to Dean Regan to settle this matter?"

There was a pause, as I'm sure the secretary was asking what she should tell Senora.

"Uh…yes. Dean Regan will see her."

Senora looked at Rosalie who was shaking her head.

"I don't really think so." Rosalie responded to the unasked question.

Senora was flushing at the blatant disrespect.

"Surely whatever it was you did to Mr. Carlisle, it is not so bad." She wheedled, and the twittered of laughter behind hands grew louder.

"I knocked over a desk. Well, several. In the middle of a test." Rosalie said in that same friendly, conversational tone, even as her hands began to shake and her smile grew a bit too forced.

Gasps and bursts of laughter erupted and Senora spent the next few moments frantically speaking in Spanish, trying to get us quieted.

She pressed the intercom.

"Yes?" Came the tentative reply.

"Please send an escort for Miss Hale."

There was a long pause and then a very familiar, firm voice came over the intercom.

"Security is on their way, Senora Delgado."

The class went silent at Dean Regan's chilly tone. Rosalie rolled her eyes and went back to staring at nothing.

When the bell rang, no one had come for Rosalie, but as we stepped out of the classroom, I could see two of the security officers waiting down the hall, until they didn't have an audience.

Needless to say, no one moved a muscle until they disappeared inside the classroom and emerged with an apparently compliant Rosalie, who was sandwiched between them.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

And if that had been it, Rosalie's reputation could have survived. It would have been tainted, possibly shredded, but salvageable with extensive mending.

But Rosalie's genius was far too over-reaching for her own good.

At lunch, the students who were in Dr. Carlisle's first period remedial algebra class were surrounded by dozens of eager gossip hounds.

Edward played with his food while I tried not hear the stories.

"Dr. Carlisle passes out the tests and not five minutes into the test he asks, 'is there a problem Rosalie?'" A pimply sophomore with massive ears yammer excitedly. "And Hale just shrugs and walks the test up to his desk, saying how she's not feeling like taking a test today."

There were 'ooh's' and exchanged glances at the blatant disrespect over one of the favorite (and most fantasized about) professors at St. Olaf's.

"Dr. Carlisle just says it's too bad, and maybe she can make time after school in detention to finish and Hale just…goes _off_."

The sophomore's eyes are wide, as if he still can't believe Rosalie did what she did. "She gets this look; I thought she was going to kill somebody. And she flips over the desk closest to her, just pushes the fucking over and then the next. I think she did about three before she just stopped, like she didn't even realize what she doing. Turned and looked at us all like she had forgotten we were there. She grabs her shit, bag and whatnot, takes one last look at Dr. Cullen and then flips her desk over with so much force the fucking thing actually breaks. Desk and chair just…disconnect. And Hale's gone. Carlisle didn't even call security, just up righted the desks and picked up the pieces of the broken desk and tells us to go back to work. Crazy dude."

Then there were people from Spanish class that were giving their versions of events, and by the time lunch was over, it was being whispered that Rosalie had been put in in-house suspension in the office for the rest of the day, and that her father was presumably on his way here to pull her out of school and place her in a mental institution.

No one knew how to make a good story scandalous like Rosalie Hale.

She was a legend.

Even while destroying herself, she was brilliantly unique.

By sixth period math, I had people gathered around, asking me why I had moved out on Rosalie, if she had ever had any "psychotic" breakdowns, if she listened to Marilyn Manson on her Ipod.

By seventh period, some freshman claimed he had been sent down to the office, where Rosalie was sitting in hand cuffs, waiting to be picked up by the local cops.

And by eighth period, in which Emmett studiously did not speak to anyone even as people approached the both of us, people were alternatively waiting for a police car or an ambulance to come speeding up the lane, to either take Rosalie to jail (for destruction of school property? Refusing to walk down to the office by herself?) or to wrap her in a straight jacket to the local loony bin.

When the final bell rang, I fought past the nearly feral crowds and headed to Edward's room.

I sighed in relief when I found it empty. I needed space to think. To breathe.

To agonize over Rosalie Hale.

Rosalie Hale who was getting what she deserved for sleeping with a teacher.

A teacher who had apparently ditched her after getting what he wanted from her.

An older, incredibly good-looking teacher that Rosalie was willing to risk everything for, only to be thrown in front of a train at the first available moment.

A train wreck that completely destroyed everything Rosalie Hale ever stood for on this campus.

A reputation that reflected not only her, but her family.

A reputation that was flawless, until now.

Flawless until a good-looking older teacher had charmed his way into her heart…pants.

Shit.

Oh shit.

I rummaged through my things until I found my keys and rushed out the door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I hadn't been in Whitlock Hall since I had moved out.

I could practically hear the gossip as it raged behind closed doors.

I ran up the five flights and used my key.

I shoved open the door and blinked.

My hand was still on the doorknob as I took in the scene before me.

Edward was refusing to let the door that went separated Rosalie's room from what used to be my room close in his face.

Rosalie's furious expression as the door wobbled between both of them pushing in opposite directions.

They both paused as I flew in the room. Edward used Rosalie's temporary distraction to shove the door entirely open and Rosalie stumbled back a step.

I shut the door that I was holding closed and locked it.

"Rosalie." I said. "I'm so sor—"

"Shut up." Rosalie growled, from behind a bleeding lower lip as she held it between her teeth, apparently to stop the tears that I could see were welling. "Shut the hell up Alice."

Edward blocked my view. "Rosalie, what the hell happened? Half the school thinks you're going to be locked up, and the other half thinks you'll be in a padded room before sunset."

The words rolled past her like they never existed. "Both of you. Get out."

"No." Edward and I both answered immediately.

"Rosalie, they'll expel you." Edward said, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed to slits. "Your father will—"

"Have a heart attack and possible die of shock. Which would result in a hefty sum of money coming my way. Big loss there." Rosalie snapped and I flinched.

"I wanted out. I told you I was going turn this place upside down when I started this thing, don't you remember? I was sick of the people, sick of their bullshit, sick of pretending. This was the plan Edward. Don't get your panties in a twist because it's working."

"It's not working. It didn't work. We aren't speaking, Emmett is pretending we all don't exist, and you're sleeping with a—"

A book hit me in the face. It was a paperback, and it didn't hurt, except to surprise me into shutting up.

Rosalie's eyes were on fire.

"I invented you Mary Alice Brandon, and I can destroy you just as easily." She hissed, and she took a step forward, but Edward caught her arms.

"Stop it. Alice wants to help you. But we need to know Rosalie. What happened? Did you…did you take something? Have you been shooting up?"

"Go back to sniffing Alice's twat Cullen. It's why I pawned her off on you anyway. So you'd be distracted by the white trash while I played the real game."

She shoved Edward, who was not expecting it. He took a step back, but kept a hold of her.

"Answer the questions." He demanded.

"Fuck yourself. I'd offer to do it myself, but if I recall correctly, you only go for sewer scum like my ex-roommate and that dyke from the public school." She was still struggling with Edward, pushing at his arms and raking her nails into his shirt and skin.

"Rosalie, stop it. I won't tell. Edward will go. And we'll figure this out. Come on, we'll egg his car or short-sheet him or something. You can't leave. You're the only friend I have here."

Rosalie paused in her struggling to look at me. A strange look passed on her face and I heard her giggle quietly.

"Alice, you really aren't that bright are you? I told you your first week here that I can't be trusted. I'm no better than the rest of them. But you ignored me. And when I told you to sleep with two guys, you did it. And when I had you help ruin the lives of people who have probably never given you two thoughts of their precious time, you did that too. Not because we're friends. Because you're desperate. You're willing to kiss anyone's ass if it means you'll feel like someone likes you. Would the Mary Alice from Biloxi do that if she were still in the swamp?"

I pushed past the words. I knew she didn't mean them. Rosalie might have let her physical mask slip, but the emotional one was still firmly attached. I maybe did not know all the intricacies of Rosalie Hale, member of Them, but I did know Rosalie, the girl who helped me get through my first semester, who gave me a solid nod that told me silently to go out and tell everyone else to fuck themselves. And that Rosalie was crumbling.

"Get out. Go fuck one another until you make some blue-collar babies who will play bluegrass music for change on the sidewalk. Leave me alone."

And then her possessions began flying, and these possessions were not as soft as a worn paperback.

Shoes, hairbrushes, jewelry boxes, hand mirrors, picture frames, wall decorations.

Glass rained down as Edward grabbed me and carried me out of the room.

A crowd had emerged when loud thunks began hitting the walls and the shrieks of Rosalie telling us to "get the fuck out!" reverberated down the hallway.

The sound of glass didn't get any quieter, even as we shut the door behind us.

Edward's mouth was a fine line. He strode away from me without a word.

I stood there in the hallway until the sound of breaking trinkets ceased and silence reigned once more.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Friday was hellish. Edward hadn't come back last night, and I had sat up most of the night, wrapped in a blanket, thinking.

Thinking about Rosalie. Thinking about Edward. Thinking about Emmett, Claire, Jax, Tanya, Dr. Carlisle, and every person I had met since stepping foot on this stupid, god-forsaken campus.

I sat in detention at promptly seven in the morning and tapped my pencil idly; ignoring the paper I should be researching for.

I sat through seven class periods and one lunch in the same stupor, as the combined excitement of Rosalie's stunt from yesterday, the scene from her dorm room, her absence today, and Thanksgiving Break beginning with the sound of the final bell ratcheted the student adrenaline level to an unbearable thrum, like the heartbeat of a hummingbird.

I skipped lunch.

I knew Edward wouldn't be there anyway.

I followed Emmett out of last period without realizing I was doing it.

He swung by the office, dropping off his eligibility for the upcoming boxing season. As I stood outside the office, I stared down the long hallway where the Deans of the school resided, recognizing Rosalie's slumped, lithe form as she curled into a little ball on one of those wooden-armed chairs, staring out the window without having any idea that I was watching her.

I heard Emmett's boisterous laughter as he flirted with the secretaries as the door opened.

I turned and my stupor was broken.

I was looking into sky-blue eyes, like a frozen lake in someone's eyes.

Gold hair, perfectly combed, glinted under the florescent lights.

Perfect skin and firm, manly lips filed themselves in my brain.

But it was the look on that face, created by a particularly gifted sculptor, and the pain that was there as he stared over my shoulder at the solitary figure in the hallway that burned my retinas, burned my exhausted neurons.

Filled in pieces of information that I didn't think I wanted to know.

I cleared my throat and Dr. Carlisle's gaze shifted to me in shock, as if he hadn't even seen me there, he had been so taken with the sight of Rosalie.

So pained by how broken he had made her.

I stared at him for too long, and he shifted uncomfortably.

I had seen too much.

We both knew it.

I wondered if he knew who I was, that I knew, and that Rosalie and I were what most people would term 'friends' at one point before she had been seduced by a smooth voice and an even smoother face.

I took the necessary three steps forward and grabbed the door and swung it shut, blocking off Rosalie and her pain from the one person I knew she did not want to see it.

Our eyes met once more as I strode past, exiting the school buildings for the day.

Emmett was waiting outside the doors and I stopped, startled.

"Were you waiting for me?" I asked, surprised.

"You were following me." He said flatly.

I was? What had I been doing before I had seen Rosalie? I searched and realized that yes, I had been following him, by instinct. Without consciously even thinking at all.

"Sorry." I said, and brushed by him.

"I wasn't waiting outside in thirty-five degree weather to hear your apologies." Emmett caught up to my seven or eight strides in three large ones. "Why were you following me?"

I shrugged and tried to use his body as a wind shield.

"I wasn't thinking. I'm not stalking you or anything."

"Oh. Because I thought you might want to thank me for last Thursday."

I raised an eyebrow. "For last Thursday? Or for giving Jax that black eye?"

I could almost see the Emmett behind the attitude puff out his chest proudly.

"Both I guess."

"I could have handled him."

Emmett eyed me. "You were drunk and he had his hand down your pants. You didn't have the sense you were born with to remove it."

I flushed. "You were watching pretty closely."

Emmett stuffed his hands in his pants pockets. "You were acting pretty stupid."

I stared at him in disbelief and tried to sidestep him. He countered my move easily.

"You're not happy I hit him." His voice was sour. "Are you disappointed I messed up his pretty face?"

"No, asshole. I'm disappointed I'm too short to do it for myself. I don't need you riding in on some fucking white horse like you're my boyfriend, taking care of the drunken frat boy."

Emmett was less than impressed by my tirade. "Well, your actual boyfriend was busy with his former piece of ass, and he wasn't working very hard to push her off."

"You used your fists instead of your words. You avoided me for weeks, and then you appear out of nowhere and literally pick the guy up and start growling like an irritated porcupine. So no, I'm not going to thank you for ignoring me and then making snide comments and hitting people, pretending your doing it on my behalf! And as for Edward being my 'boyfriend', if you had had _any_ sense at all, that would have been you."

Emmett's face changed then. It went blank, from completely pissed off at me to just…blank.

"I made a stupid mistake and if you hadn't jumped on the first available cock, I would have fixed it."

"And what if I said Edward was a mistake? That I never really meant to start all this? That I was just waiting for you to make your move and instead I got pissed off because you were ignoring me and I'm sixteen and an idiot and I couldn't handle that the boy I liked might not like me back. Does that make me any more to blame than you?"

But Emmett wasn't listening to me anymore. He grabbed my arm, dragged me behind the admin building and pinned me against the brick of the building, the wind nonexistent from this direction.

His hips were pressed into me, his shoulders loomed over me, and his eyes were fixed on me.

"Was Edward a mistake?" He demanded.

"I-I don't know."

"No, Alice. Do not give me that shit. I have spent the last three weeks being completely miserable because I thought Cullen and I…we were exchangeable to you. You can't tell me we're not and then take it away. You can't."

His voice cracked and I could feel his heart thumping in his broad chest.

"Emmett…" I struggled, pushing at his chest, fighting the tears. "It's been a shitty week. Please." I pleaded.

I wasn't ready for this.

I wasn't ready to suffocate under the weight of what was settling between us, what was so clear in his eyes.

"Too bad." He said roughly, his voice a bit thick. "I just want the goddamn truth for once. No sex or bullshit clogging this up. Because…because I want to do this with you Alice. For real. No bullshit. No deals, no trade-offs, no fucking Jackson Whitlock standing in the way. I want to take you to stupid shit like Winter Formal and The Waffle House, and I want you to wear my clothes, even though I know you'll drown in them. And I want to bury my cock in you and watch you as you take it. I want to be the asshole on the white horse. Besides, I have this thing for damsels…." His half-grin was forced under the weight of his words.

I watched him lift me so that I standing on my tip toes as his mouth fitted itself to me and I could hear the strangled moan in the back of his throat as I gripped his cheeks and fought for balance as we stood there, locked together, struggling to get closer, be tighter, be freed from all the things we had screwed up.

I whimpered as he pulled away and set me back down carefully.

"I want an answer Alice."

I opened my eyes, aware that the tears had been falling from them for several moments now.

"I…"

I didn't know.

How could I not know?!?!? There was a great man standing there, asking me to do all those things that I wanted, and I couldn't think about anything except Rosalie sitting there, broken by those exact things that I was craving now.

"Alice." He whispered, his head resting on mine, tucking me into his chest. "Please."

Is this what I wanted? This…this was heavy. Literally. It felt like I had a barbell that weighed a hundred pounds sitting on my chest, and two more on the soles of my feet. This was hard to breathe through. And with Edward….

With Edward it was easy. Distanced. Light. Easy.

Easy.

Easy.

Easy.

Fuck.

"I can't." I choked out, gripping his jacket when he would have pulled away. "I don't mean…I can't right now. Rosalie said…and I just. Can't."

I'm too young, too stupid, too scared, too confused, too lonely, too inexperienced to make a decision like this. Please understand.

Please Emmett.

Emmett disentangled my fingers from his lapel and held them in his hands for a moment.

"I'm sorry." I whispered.

Emmett nodded and let go of my hands.

"Go take care of Rosalie then. God knows she needs it about now." His voice was distant, toneless. Even his barbs against Rose were lacking in any true contempt.

"Emmett…"

He shook his head.

And the next thing I knew he was gone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I let myself in the dorm and stared, mystified at the suitcase standing by the door.

Right. Thanksgiving Break. The campus would be empty for the next week.

I would have the room to myself.

Edward was stuffing a few remaining items into his duffel bag, but had turned when I entered the room.

"Hey. Where were you?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

Edward shrugged and went back to throwing his glasses case into the bag, along with contact solution.

"I stayed in Eliza Kelly last night. I needed to think."

"Yeah. Me too."

Edward sighed and sat on the bed. "She's a mess. But I called her brother and he said she was coming home for Thanksgiving. Her father pretty much demanded it. He hired a car to pick her up at six. I figured I'd go over there and make sure she goes."

I frowned.

"That was…considerate."

Edward shrugged. "I asked around today. Spencer Klamm swears up and down he hasn't seen Rosalie anywhere around the new dealer on campus. And if anyone would know who was shooting up, Spencer would. So at least she isn't…"

No, it was better to experience pain while sober. You could appreciate how awful it was then.

I nodded and paced around the room.

"When are you leaving?"

"My sister is picking me up. She's been in town for a few days seeing some old friends. She'll call when she gets here. You two should meet. Esme is a photographer for a lot of those snobby magazines that showcase suburban housewives in perfect, all-white decorated rooms in their homes, wearing the latest Chanel and Prada lines. She takes great pride in making sure the lighting makes them look hideous and wide in the hips. You'd like her."

I 'hmmmed' absently and stared at the walls.

"Hey." A hand on my waist as he was suddenly there in front of me. "You okay?"

I couldn't meet his eyes.

"Course."

"She'll be alright Alice."

"Yeah." I said, trying to sound positive. But Alice the optimist was having trouble breaking through the clouds today.

"Rosalie is a stubborn—"

"It's not about Rosalie, alright!"

Silence.

I cringed.

"I'm sorry."

Edward waved off the apology.

"If it's not about Rosalie, what is it?"

I gazed over his left shoulder. "It's nothing. It's been a weird week, and I'm homesick."

"Liar."

"Don't call me a liar." I was really _not_ in the mood to be called names, teasing or not.

"Then don't lie."

"Fuck off." I bit off.

And then my back hit the wall and I was propelled by green eyes that were smoldering.

Apparently I was not the only one who had a short fuse from lack of sleep, and an all too inconvenient surplus of emotions this week.

His lips were on me before I even comprehended that we were both irrationally angry, and apparently Edward had decided the solution was sex.

His hands were all over my ass, pulling and tugging at me until I got the hint and wrapped my legs around his waist and hoisted myself up to a better vantage point.

His mouth was fused to mine, tongue flicking deep as though he was searching for something he hadn't tasted before.

And his hands left my butt as his hips anchored me to the wall, coming between us to palm both of my breasts through my shirt.

"Not right…not right…" Edward muttered, tilting me this way and that and I finally pulled away, glaring at him.

"Shut up." I growled at him.

His hips thrust into me.

"Like that. Be…be like that. Be mad at me. Come on Alice. Get pissed."

Um, too late?

"You're going to get off with me pinned against this wall aren't you? Not even take off my clothes, just shove my skirt up and shove your pants around your knees. God, just…do it already."

His lips attacked my neck as we writhed together and I leaned my head back, hands in his hair, squeezing and tugging and urging him on.

I heard the tinkle of his belt as he was pulled open, and his pants were shoved down, just like I predicted. And with one long thrust he was in me and we both grunted.

"Fuck me." He coached and held me still.

"Fuck me." I said, not appreciating being manhandled when I was trying to get fucked.

"Like you mean it."

"Fuck. Me." I growled and let my weight drop onto him and moaned when he complied and rose up on his toes as he thrust deep.

"Shit." I whimpered and reached down to rub my clit.

"That's it. Take care of yourself while I'm fucking you."

I would too.

"This…isn't going to take very long." He mumbled as he strained into me, pulling me firmly down onto his cock. I tightened around him deliberately and felt his groan go through his chest.

"Come for me. Come hard Edward." I purred, gripping the material of his t-shirt.

"Fuck you. You first." He muttered and his pace picked up, bouncing me up and down on his cock until my vision spun and I clenched around his cock, sinking my teeth into the curve of his jaw, hearing him his and the frantic sound of skin slapping skin.

Edward let out one, soundless moan that racked his body with shudders so intense that his legs collapsed and we tumbled to the floor with two loud bangs, him slipping out of me as we fell.

Somehow I landed on the bottom.

I would have a few bruises after this little excursion, not that I could bring myself to give a shit at the moment.

Edward collapsed on top of me, his face nuzzled in my neck. One hand toyed idly with my nipple.

His hair legs tickled.

"Rose…" He muttered as he kissed my nipple, still slumped in the throes of ecstasy.

I stiffened.

Rose?

As in…Rosalie Hale?

Oh hell no.

What was it that I had thought of our relationship this afternoon?

That it was easy?

I pushed Edward off of me and got off the floor.

Edward blinked owlishly.

And then his vision cleared and he sat up abruptly.

His lips formed a visible 'o' but no sound came out, which was probably a good thing since I was ready to castrate him the second he uttered so much as a syllable.

And in the silence I heard the clanks of everything, all the unknowns I had been puzzling all week, fall into place.

We stared at one another for an eternity—at least twenty minutes—until Edward's phone rang and he answered it, eyes still focused on me.

"Yeah….I'll be down."

He stuffed the phone back in his pocket and did up his fly and belt.

He grabbed his suitcase and duffel and shuffled it higher on his shoulder.

He opened his mouth, but my face must have expressed how I felt about him saying anything to me right about now and he closed it and nodded to himself.

He pulled open the door and carried his crap with him.

He didn't look back as he slammed the door shut.

I stayed there until I was convinced I could move without picking up the nearest, most expensive thing, and hurling it at the wall.

Easy?

Easy?

Was I a complete fucking moron?

I had left easy behind long ago.


	19. Existing in Silence

A/N: Shorter than usual, but only because there didn't seem to be a lot to say. I've been a shit at replying to reviews, but I plan on doing that tomorrow (for last chapter) and my sincere apologies. Every review makes me smile and I am so glad so many seem to enjoy my particular brand of dramatics.

That said, there will be a teaser posted on Wednesday on my thread at Twilighted for Chapter 20, so come visit!

And Enjoy :)

"_**All men should strive  
to learn before they die  
what they are running from, and to, and why."  
~James Thurber**_

Chapter 18: Existing in silence

I returned back to Olaf's on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, loaded down with garment bags and shoe boxes.

That was my mother's solution to the Thanksgiving dinner that had turned into a battle between my father and myself, ending in my father threatening to cut me off entirely and send me to public school.

Well, at least if he did follow through, I'd look fabulous.

I tipped the driver after he helped me carry three loads of material gain into my dorm room and then sank down in my bed, ready to do nothing for the next twenty-four hours but sleep.

As always my dreams were of him. The first time he had kissed me, standing over my desk in the math room, pointing out some intricacy to solving a problem. I had been staring at my lap, trying hard not to inhale as he bent down and trapped me in a prison of faux wood, metal, and plastic.

His hand had put pressure at the base of my neck to look up, and there he was. Eyes dark, equations forgotten, warm pressure of his finger tips flaying me where I sat.

The kiss itself is still a mystery my subconscious refuses to unlock. I remember my stomach clenching, and I remember wanting to beg, but there was an excess of sandpaper on my tongue that kept me silent and breathless.

All I remember is how hot his mouth was against mine, and the pressure of his fingers there, holding me steady.

I wish I could dream of other things, other acts that had passed between us, perhaps even things that hadn't, but whenever I dreamt of him, it was only of that moment, in all its hazy glory.

I woke to the sound of someone kicking my shoeboxes out of the way. I lifted my head and made a sleepy, aggravated noise the kicker did not appear to hear.

"You're back."

I stared.

"I could say the same thing about you."

Alice leaned against the frame of my door. "I'm moving back in."

I reclined back onto my pillow. There were plenty of things I could say about that statement. 'No, you're not' came to mind first and foremost. Likewise 'Edward not doing it for you anymore?' flitted across my brain briefly before I yawned widely and decided the venom it would take to produce a result from the stubborn little girl standing amidst the remains of what had been sixteen hour shopping spree was not worth the effort.

So instead I said nothing, just closed my eyes and pretended to go back to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We existed in silence the rest of the weekend. I stayed in my room and Alice stayed in hers.

Late Sunday night there was a knock on the door. I rolled over and ignored it.

Apparently Alice was doing the same thing, because the knock came again a minute later.

I heard no movement from the other room.

I sat straight up when I heard the door turn anyway.

"What the—Edward." Alice's voice was louder than usual, and not just with surprise. There was an edge to her voice that most recently I had heard directed at me.

I idly wondered if Edward was sleeping with one of the professors as well.

"Thanks for leaving me a note you were moving out." Came the dry baritone reply, still silky in its delivery. Edward had a way of doing that, being polite in his irritation.

Alice's reply was lost on me, as her voice had settled back to a quiet whisper.

Yes Alice, don't raise your temper at anyone, it might wake the sleeping beast. After her grand pronouncement that she was moving back in, she had been irrationally quiet in everything she did—I'd bet my father's senate seat she had been walking on her tip-toes, and avoiding every plank of wood that creaked. I hadn't heard the door open or close either, but I knew she must have left, if only to move the rest of her stuff back, and probably for food.

What good was being in the same room with a messed up, catatonic mute if you ignored her?

"How is she?" Edward's voice wafted through the slightest of openings of my door.

"She hasn't said a word and she hasn't left to eat. Or shower for that matter. I think I saw cracker crumbs in her hair when she came through to use the bathroom though, so she isn't starving herself."

I grabbed my nest of wildly tangled, greasy gold hair, looking for evidence that I had become that pathetic.

I curled my lip when I saw Alice was right.

I listened carefully while I played the part of a monkey without a mate and picked out the bits of food in my hair in disgust.

"You're not going to tell me why she's like this, are you?"

I straightened. Alice hadn't told Edward? I thought for sure she's go blabbing to both of the apes I had wrangled into my once brilliant plan. Emmett would love to have something on me. And Edward? Well Edward never put any good information to waste.

"Do you really think I'm in the mood to put on my pj's and eat popcorn and cookie dough while painting my toenails and gossiping to _you_ about the complete and utter fuckery that is Rosalie Hale's life?"

What the fuck Alice?

I positioned myself to propel off of my sweaty, rumpled, unmade bed, but tensed before my toes could hit the floor.

Despite the fact that Alice had just referred to me in the way that I usually referred to one hundred percent of the females at this school, lumping me in as a piece of meaningless, melodramatic gossip, the burn in her voice was not directed at me.

I was throw-away material, used to pursue another end.

And that end was Edward Cullen.

God damn. What did Edward do to the pixie?

"Alice."

Wow. I didn't think I had ever heard that plaintive note in Edward's voice before. He actually sounded sorry for whatever he'd done.

It must have been really bad.

"You should have told me."

"You knew we weren't…like that."

"I knew, but it's a lot different when you're shagging someone who just happens to be pretending they're boning your—"

Then there was a muffled sound and this time I did launch myself off the bed to stand at my door and peek through the crack. Thankfully, the lights were out in my room and I created no shadow as I saw Edward's palm over Alice's mouth as Alice shot her adorable I'm-too-petite-to-be-anything-but-pouty-when-I'm-pissed glare at him.

Whatever Edward had to say next was communicated solely through eye contact. Alice looked away and his hand came down.

There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Are you still coming to the library with me tomorrow so I can help you with your science presentation? Finals are three and half weeks away."

Alice was still resolutely not looking at him. But she nodded and Edward took a step back, giving her some space. He headed for the door, but Alice spoke before he could open it.

"Don't use your master key to get in here anymore or I'll inform Dean Regan that that particular key came from his personal secretary."

Edward's lips quirked.

"She has a meeting with Principal Seymour-Overington and the Dean tomorrow at eight. I heard her telling her mom when she called to tell her she had gotten to school safely."

So she was listening for me just as closely as I had been listening for her. I had practically had that conversation in whispers.

But why would Edward care that I was meeting with our esteemed Principal tomorrow?

I didn't receive any answers, the next thing I heard was the door shut quietly and the room descended into silence once more.

I returned to my haven, still in the dark.

Not long after, I heard the squeak of Alice's mattress as she slid into bed as well.

I didn't sleep; I merely existed in the darkness until light began to show through my window.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My father had wanted to come at this meeting. Thankfully he had to make a speech or be at the capitol or somewhere else equally important.

He certainly would not have been there on my side.

Instead of being in the Dean's office, I was escorted by one of the secretary's to the board room.

They were already assembled, even though it was only 7:55.

Both academic deans were there, Dean Regan and Patricia, as well as Principal Virginia Seymour-Overington, and a sampling of my teachers, including Dr. Carlisle.

I kept my eyes focused on the chair across from this rather imposing line of judges, juries, and executioners, the chair I was meant to sit in and face my fate in front of them all.

I didn't know if there was a friendly face among them; I knew that if I looked up it would be at him, and my façade—the one that had caused me to wash my hair after four days of not doing so (and then only because my mother demanded it before Thanksgiving dinner) and neatly iron every article of clothing I had on, before applying light make-up to give me a less dead appearance.

If I looked at him everything I had painstakingly done this morning, in front of the eyes of a concerned and curious Alice, would be ruined.

And Rosalie Hale had already ruined enough of her reputation in the two weeks.

She would not be diverted from her plan.

….

And now I was talking in the third person.

I really had cracked something severe in thinking that I could be with a man who was an educator at my school. Who was my educator.

Which is why I came up with the plan.

Again.

I crossed my ankles, which were encased in modest, black tights, and placed my hands in my lap, careful not to clench or wring them together.

I would show none of those cracks; I was a veneer of young lady with high ambitions who had impeccable training and education and would end up at some prestigious school, possibly in Europe or the UK, attending lectures and charity galas with the same regularity and dedication.

The veneer steadied and then glued itself into place as I took a deep breath and looked up into the face of St. Olaf's commander in chief, the inimitable Miss Seymour-Overtington.

"Good morning." I addressed them all, but my eyes never faltered.

"And good morning to you Rosalie. I am relieved to see that you are looking much better. I was very concerned when I received word from Dean Regan that your behavior was quite out of the norm."

Virginia Seymour-Overtington, who needed both last names even though she was unmarried and in her late fifties, was a rarely seen person on campus. As principal, she spent most of her time glad-handing the trustees and raising money from Olaf alum who had deep pockets. An Olaf graduate herself, no person's school pride ran deeper than hers. When she retired (or died because she would never retire willingly) they would certainly name a building after her.

But she was no welcome mat, no figurehead to me smiled at and then dismissed. Miss Seymour-Overtington was a hard-ass through and through, and the first female principal ever at Olaf's, which meant she had higher expectations of her students than anyone else.

She might be smiling now, but with one swift word, one purse of her red, perfectly shaded lips, and the veneer that was Rosalie Hale would be unable to get into any college of standing, or work in the northeast corner of the country.

She was not a woman to be trifled with.

And she had graciously given me an opportunity to toss her pride into the lion's den and lay myself prostate at her well-heeled shoes.

"Miss Seymour-Overtington, I wanted to apologize for my atrocious behavior two Friday's past. I am afraid I am going through some difficult issues and I took it out on the school and my teachers, instead of seeking help. But the break and my visit home gave me a fresh sense of self and I promise you, you will hear no more of any disturbances caused by me."

It was plain and dirty groveling. True, wide-eyed ass kissing.

I bristled and then buckled down and gave in.

After all, I was sixteen. What was I going to say?

My spleen and several other organs had been Chuck-Norrissed by one of your favored teachers?

I groveled and I groveled damn well, for all that it burned at the back of my throat to let the words escape.

Dean Regan's bushy eyebrows had risen. "Don't think that apologizing will get you out of punishment Rosalie. You destroyed school property and were deliberately defiant to two teachers, both of whom deserve apologies from you as well."

My jaw clenched.

He wanted me to apologize to Dr. Carlisle now? In front of everyone?

If only Senora was here, so I could apologize to her first.

"Professor Carlisle, I am very s-sorry that I caused a disturbance during a test…and that I destroyed school property while throwing a tem-temper tantrum."

I mumbled, and was horrified to feel tears leaking down my rouged cheeks. I refused to glance up at him.

"Very well Miss Hale. We can see that you have truly rethought your actions and are sorry. In addition to being fined for the desk you broke, and apologizing to Senora Delgado, you will serve community service at the soup kitchen on Bluff Street twice a week, for the remainder of this semester and the next. You will also behave impeccably, or else we will be forced to suspend you and take further disciplinary actions."

I nodded, and tried to look grateful. A full semester of community service? For knocking over a couple of desks?

My legs were shaking as I tried to contain my rage. The veneer was slipping.

"I have a request."

The meeting, which was about to end, came to a dead halt at my words.

The teachers and administrators resettled into their seats.

"I want…please. Please…part of the reason that I had so much anger, most of the reason that I have been so distracted is that I am not feeling challenged enough in my classes. I would like to transfer to honors courses next semester, including honors geometry."

My breathing was hard and my nails were making crescents into my palms, but I looked up and met Miss Seymour-Overtington was a dead stare.

"I need to be focused right now. I know I don't deserve this privilege, but I assure you that I am excelling in all of my courses and I made up all the homework I was missing during the holiday break. I need…I need to have something to work towards."

And that was as close to being honest as I could possibly get in front of a room full of people who were my superiors, my judges.

Mrs. Perry, my lit teacher peered at me from behind her glasses. "She's been nothing but brilliant in her written work, even if she doesn't participate in class like I would prefer. I'd grant her a trial week in my honors comp class and if she learns to share her opinions rather than stare at her peers in boredom, I'd be more than happy to give her some preparation for college entrance exams."

I silently thanked Alice and her insight when I had struggled to find the purpose of reading century-old prose. Literature was one of my worst subjects.

Dr. Lieven, who ran the entire science department and was a twenty-plus lifer here at Olaf's nodded. "She's been an exceptional student in Biology. I'd have no concerns over an increased workload as long as her attendance improved."

Miss Seymour-Overington looked to her left and I knew who it was she was looking to.

"And you, Professor Carlisle? I believe Rosalie is retaking a section of Algebra I with you?"

I could feel his eyes on me.

"She isn't ready for geometry, much less a rigorous set pace."

My head snapped up and I was dimly aware that I had gasped.

Liar!

And then I was drowning in his face and his cheekbones and his damn stupid perfect hair…

I fought back a sob and sniffled loudly.

"I can do it. Give me a test. Everything that's been taught in geometry so far this semester. I would ace that test." I protested loudly.

"Miss Hale!"

I clamped down on my lips. Miss Seymour-Overtington was eyeing me like I was a cockroach.

"I'm sorry, I just…I can do it."

"Not without a teacher recommendation, which I believe you are not going to be granted, is that right Professor?"

"I'm sorry Rosalie."

Liar!

And then the veneer shattered.

It fell, without warning, right off my face and the tears that I had stifled for a week and a half were pouring down my face, erasing all of my hard work in their horrendous, embarrassing silence.

A tissue appeared in front of my downturned face and I grasped it, not bothering to wipe my eyes. The tears would still come; I had no control over them now.

"Miss Hale, perhaps it would be more suitable for you to stay at your current academic level and focus instead, on what is truly causing you so much…distress."

The words from the principal were stiff, and uncomforting. But then, she had never tolerated weakness, especially from her own gender, with any tenderness or empathy.

The woman was made of marble, and I was only made of flesh, no matter what I wished to believe otherwise.

I looked up and nodded my thanks, even though I wanted to shriek at her like a banshee, to accuse her of being non-human, of having no heart beneath that Chanel exterior.

I wanted to scream my pain out to the world, but pride had swollen my throat until I could do nothing but exist in the silence of the suddenly stifling room.

Dean Regan was staring at me, a peculiar look on his face. Like he could hardly believe that I had cracked, after two years of sitting idly in his office, looking for all the world like my money and looks would get me out of any trouble or punishment he created.

But he was not staring in triumph, or in self-satisfactory congratulations. Instead he looked like he was a bit sick, as he grabbed his coffee mug and followed the rest of the teachers shuffling out of the room.

Until there was just two, and I wished for the floor to swallow me up.

"Rosalie."

His hand gently came to my arm and I wrenched it away before he could touch me.

How dare he _touch_ me? How dare he think it was okay to put his hands on me?

I made for the door, but he pushed it closed before I got there.

And then suddenly his hands were on me, subduing my flailing arms, which were feebly trying to push him away.

And then I was sobbing, silent, wracking sobs that shook the door behind me until his body weight pressed into mine and stilled the door, even though now he shook with the force of my pain.

My mouth was open, trying to inhale while I shuddered and oozed proof of how badly I was cracked beneath the mask via my tears. Every pore of my body hurt, every strand of hair hung heavy on my scalp, every breath was an earthquake of pain.

Caused by him.

He was still struggling with me, until at last he pinned me with his entire body, from thigh to hip to chest, and his right hand came up to cup my chin, while the other dodged my hands.

"Shhh….Rosalie…." His voice was choked, hoarse. "God damn it Rosalie. Stop fighting me."

But I wouldn't. I couldn't stop fighting if I wanted to survive. If I didn't want to lose what little I had left, even if it was just a shell.

Just a mask.

He was centimeters away from my face and I closed my eyes tightly, feeling his breath on my nose, on my lips as we strained and struggled, just like the last time I had been in his arms.

Except that last time I was trying to hide my body inside of his, and now I couldn't seem to find enough space to keep him away.

"I'm sorry Rosalie. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have…she's an old girlfriend, we went to Dartmouth together. She was in town visiting some friends. She doesn't mean anything to me."

I closed my eyes even more tightly and wished I could close my ears. My palm itched to slap him, to leave my pain across his beautiful face.

His lips were at my temple now. "I was trying to prove to myself that you didn't mean anything to me." He whispered to me softly.

My chest was squeezed into a thousand shard-like pieces. I fought to swallow some air and felt his hand cup my face soothingly, like a parent would while their child was trying to fall asleep.

"I wanted to prove that I hadn't done this to myself, hadn't knowingly threatened my research and funding and career for a quick fuck and a letter of recommendation to an ivy-league school."

A European school. Or someplace snooty like Oxford. My brain supplied dully, inconsequentially.

His hands were trailing up and down my neck and collarbone now, trying to smooth away the tension, the tautness.

"And then you were there, and I—I wanted you. I want you. All the time. Everywhere. I dream about being inside of you." He whispered, repeating my own words back at me. "Please open your eyes Rosalie. Please look at me."

I shook my head vehemently.

"No? Then I shall have to persuade you another way of my sincerity."

I panicked. His breath was ghosting over my lips and I didn't have time to move before he had tilted my head up to his and swiftly fused our mouths together.

Was he trying to kill me?

I made a distressed sound and my fingers reached up to clench in his hair. His free hand found one of my wrists and pulled it down, between our bodies, a silent reminder that we were in a school office and couldn't emerge disheveled.

My other hand reluctantly released him, but pressed against his chest, feeling him real and there, in front of me.

Telling me he wanted me.

I shakily pulled back to inhale some air and opened my swollen, now overly-dry eyes to look at him.

"I'm sorry." His nose brushed mine as our foreheads rested together. "Please don't be mad at me about the meeting. Be mad at me about everything else under the sun, but understand that I'm not ready to let you go yet."

His hands were clutching me, too tightly, impressing his point upon my flesh.

I closed my eyes again, rocking against his warm body.

Did I forgive him?

No.

Did I believe him?

I didn't know.

Did I care that I didn't forgive him if it meant I was here, in his arms and on his mind and tucked into his chest?

No.

What did I want? For the first time since I had first laid eyes on the man in front of me, it was actually my decision.

What did I want?

To be lost inside of this man until the second coming.

I opened my eyes and reached up to smooth his collar and wipe at the trace of lip gloss on his lips.

Our eyes met and I let myself get lost.


	20. Trophies and Amazons

A/N: Come visit me on the thread on Wednesday for teasers for the coming weeks update. Also I'll be posting a poll quite shortly about your opinion as to what I should write next.

Yes, this is coming to an end. Ten chapters or less (unless I botch that somehow, which has been known to happen)

Thanks for reading and responding, it makes me feel all shiny and brand new :)

"_**My mother's people, the people who captured my imagination when I was growing up, were of the Deep South. They were courageous under tension and unexpectedly tough beneath their wild eccentricities. They also had an unusually high quota of bullshit."  
**_

_**~Willie Morris**_

Chapter 20: Trophies and Amazons

It was a long day.

A ridiculously long day.

Rosalie sat next to me in both Spanish and Political Geography, but she refused to say how her meeting went with the Principal, and only mouthed 'later' to me as she diligently sat down and played the role of model student to perfection.

I was distracted in both of those classes by the slightly wild look in Rosalie's eyes, like there was a whole network of thoughts going on behind the "I'm fascinated in predicate tense verbs" expression on her lovely face.

Rosalie was wearing a lot of make up. It helped to cover up the circles beneath her eyes, and the disconcerting look that became visible as she drifted off into her little world, leaving the world of academia far behind.

What _was_ that look?

It wasn't as fragmented as it was on that Thursday before Thanksgiving, but neither was it happy or even relieved.

Rosalie simply looked…perplexed.

And by the time the final bell finally rang, I wasn't in the mood to deal with science projects or with potential ex-boyfriends who said other girls' names after you just finished getting well and thoroughly nailed.

I just wasn't.

So I blew off Edward and scampered after Rosalie's long stride as we headed back to our room, not necessarily together, seeing as how Rosalie clearly wasn't aware that I was huffing and puffing just to keep up with her, much less that I was next to her.

But she left the door to our room open behind her, which led me to believe that she wasn't totally spaced out, and I shut it and locked it behind me.

"So…" I asked immediately, shrugging off my jacket and following Rosalie into her pigsty of a room, which had actually gotten worse since I had moved out.

I was literally stepping on a cashmere sweater as I searched for a place to sit down.

"Community service twice a week for the rest of the school year. What a cunt."

But the words didn't bite; they were in fact unusually placid and accepting of the punishment, which did seem a bit harsh for throwing a temper tantrum.

"Dr. Carlisle was there."

Oh.

Hence the look all day.

"I asked if I could get out of his class, switch to geometry at semester."

"Oh. That's good. We could have another class together next semester then. Since poli geo is mercifully ending at semester." Thank you Jay-sus. I could only stand so much boring statistics, accompanied by Emmett ignoring me like I was a leper.

"He told Miss Seymour-Overington no."

"What? That asshole! He's holding you back! You could be a merit scholar with those math scores and he doesn't want to give up his piece of ass? What a fuck."

Rosalie was looking at me like I had grown another boob (or some other appendage).

"I thought you thought I was cheating—that I was just another silly trophy girl looking for a husband with a six-figure income."

I scowled at her. "If I thought that, I assure you I wouldn't be here."

There was a lot of tension in the room, with the argument that we had never resolved brewing between us, and that wild gleam in Rosalie's eyes once more.

"Blowing off Edward for me, Alice? I'm touched."

"What did the good doctor have to say Rosalie?" I demanded, ignoring the barb.

"He wants me…too."

"I hope you punched him in the wiener." I said bitterly, horrified at the thought that anyone could be so manipulative, all over sex. He was an attractive man; surely there were dozens of women who were willing to spend an afternoon with their legs up over their heads with that man? Surely he didn't need to resort to holding students back from their academic potential, just in the name of getting laid?

Unless he had some sort of "to Catch a Predator" kink that involved girls in pigtails and short, plaid skirts.

Sicko.

"Rosalie. Tell me you told that sick fuck to have two ribs removed so that he can bone himself before you marched off to Miss Seymour-Overington and got his cradle-robbing ass fired."

"Well…"

Oh fuck.

"I think he's telling the truth, Alice."

It was a plea to understand, except that Rosalie Hale did not lower herself to plead and Alice Brandon did not understand, and she certainly wasn't going to let this go.

"He's going to continue to tutor me, and if you think about it, I'll learn more from him at my pace, then in two years with the rest of the asshats that go to school here."

I choked on that particular bit of logic.

"So you'll exchange math tutoring for sex. That's reasonable."

"Alice, he's telling the truth. You didn't see him. You didn't hear him. He's been as miserable as I have."

An image of the handsome Dr. Carlisle popped into my mind, looking thoroughly punched from the shock of seeing a beaten-down, defeated Rosalie in the school office hallway.

He did feel badly.

"Guilt is not a reason to return to the insanity of screwing around with a teacher!"

But love might be.

And even though I knew she would never admit it, Rosalie was ass over elbows in love with her teacher.

I snorted and angrily began plucking up expensive pieces of clothing from the floor. Cleaning was an angry habit of mine.

"I'm not stupid Alice, I know how this sounds. But I'm not going to fall all over myself again. I know what I want and I'm capable of keeping it now that I can finally have it."

"Really? Because I was under the impression that you 'had' him the last time too, before he did whatever the fuck he did that turned you into scary, rebellious, smelly Barbie."

Rosalie flushed red and grabbed the clothes out of my hands, tossing them back on the floor.

"Blowjobs and playing the part of the naughty schoolgirl are for boys who are taking you somewhere, getting you something in return. This is different. I have nothing to gain from this. I want this. It's different this time around."

I stared at the rainbow of colors and fabrics pooled on Rosalie's floor, a miasma of swirls and patterns and textures.

Different.

It's always going to _be_ different, isn't it? Different guys, different lines, different position out of the Kama.

It's literally different for every female on the planet dozens of times throughout the span of their life for every member of the opposite (or same) sex that sparks that primal flame of carnal interest.

It's always going to be different; but how do you know when it's going to be _right_?

Was Rosalie right, or was she willing to be different for Dr. Carlisle?

Was Dr. Carlisle going to be different this time, or was he right for Rosalie?

And how the hell was I supposed to just allow Rosalie to jeopardize her future for her teenaged belief that this man (as opposed to the billion or so other males on the planet) was the right man?

There's no logic in this, no science. There's no way I can prove that Rosalie is wrong, and there's no way to prove that I am right.

No way except for time.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was a quiet night in our suite. Rosalie was lost in her thoughts, and I was forming hundreds of counterarguments that went unspoken.

Ultimately, Rosalie would do what she wanted, regardless of my reasons, my concern.

I watched her flip her head upside down and brush through it before flipping back up and fluffing the blonde waves some more.

The color in her cheeks made her look better, less tired, less stressed.

More like the girl that must exist outside of the walls of this crazy, crazy institution.

"I'll see you at lunch?" I ask tentatively. If I have decided nothing else, I have decided that Rosalie is my sole friend, and I won't divide us over the issue of one hot bitch professor again.

"Um, I don't think so. For the time being, I'm eschewing the cafeteria. Still feeling a little bit brittle, you know? Close to the surface and whatnot."

Brittle was a good word for her.

I nodded and went through the routine of my morning classes, watched Rosalie participate and falsely smile at Senora Delgado, and studied and organized my notes during study hall, until at last the lunch bell rang.

A lunch bell in which I could either hide out in my room or face the fact that I had ditched Edward yesterday in a fit of irritation.

Or…

I didn't allow myself time to think.

I just headed towards the cafeteria, got my tray, and headed directly where no blue-collar, scholarship, alligator lady had gone before.

I slid in next to a group of people that I recognized from the bonfire like I did so every day, smiling easily and pretending my heart wasn't about to pound out of my chest.

The conversation abruptly quieted and every eye at the table turned to me.

Oh crap.

What was I supposed to do now?

"Hey." I offered lamely, ripping open my ranch dressing packet and pouring it all over my fries.

There were a few quiet mumbles, but I could tell they were wondering what the hell I was doing there.

I began to panic as it became clear that they were planning on ignoring me, and then spending the remainder of the day talking and laughing about the crazy girl who just randomly invited herself to lunch.

Crap.

"Hey." Velvet assaulted my ears and I became aware of the unmistakable smell of Edward suddenly surrounding me as he slid into the seat to my left, arm going easily around the back of my chair, turning sideways so he was facing me and the rest of the table.

"Hey Edward." Came the chorus of replies, relieved.

None more relieved than me.

Edward grinned quickly as the other people at the table and then leaned over to hand me his carton of skim milk, so I could mix it with the too heavy 2% chocolate milk.

It was a maneuver Rosalie and I had often executed during our tenure at our own table, when we were friends. Rosalie hated milk, and I loved chocolate, until it got too thick and slimy at the bottom of the carton.

It appeared to be a thoughtless gesture, but it spoke of intimacy and routine that came with a couple.

No one would ever guess that we both had reasons to be peeved at the other.

And for the sake of our audience, Edward would not hint that we were anything but a solid couple, tighter than ever.

Even though I was embarrassed and proud, I was also insanely grateful that he hadn't hesitated to ease me out of a potentially awkward situation.

"Crawford, heard your bassist broke his thumb."

He was stroking my hand on top of the table, talking to the boy across the table from me; a black-haired kid with a faux hawk of epic proportions.

My blue streaks didn't seem quite so extreme anymore.

"Fell out of his fucking bed trying to nail some slut from the public school. Had to cancel a gig. What a waste."

I wondered if he was referring to the missed gig or to the botched fuck. Or both.

And for the rest of the lunch period, we hung out and talked about music and movies, and other mundane topics. I occasionally offered my own input, and pretended just for a moment, that I was just a normal kid at lunch, hanging out with her friends.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I caught up with Edward in the practice rooms of Eliza Kelly, using my key after listening to him play outside the door for a while.

It wasn't often that I got to hear him play live. He brought back tapes of his work to mull over, but so far I had regarded this as his sanctuary from the room we had been sharing.

But I wasn't living with him anymore, and so I knocked peremptorily and barged right in.

He looked up, surprised.

"Hey." He greeted, mocking me with his smile.

I didn't mind. I deserved some mockery for that stunt at lunch.

"You're officially my hero and I humbly apologize for flaking on you yesterday." I sassed right back, adding a healthy dose of southern belle to my voice. "Please accept my most heartfelt apologies and a blowjob in recompense."

Edward's jaw dropped.

Then he burst out laughing and I was assaulted by the acoustically almost-perfect sound of his musical laughter echoing in the small room.

It was like bells or chimes or something equally wonderful sounding.

He grabbed the waist of my skirt and tugged me onto the bench with him.

"You're not really sorry." He said, arm draped over my shoulder, hanging loosely down my arm so I could study those beautiful, long fingers and avoid looking directly at him.

"I'm not really sorry." I confirmed, shrugging my shoulders twice so his hand bounced and his fingers dangled.

Michelangelo wished he had hands like those to sculpt. David had nothing on the boy I was sitting with.

"So who was more important than me? Or was sitting alone in the library for an hour punishment?"

He didn't need to say what the punishment was for.

I think we'd both be better off if we never spoke of that particular interlude again. But something else had grabbed my attention.

"You sat there for an _hour_?"

This time he shrugged and I felt the weight shift over my shoulders.

"You haven't got a cell phone Alice." There was an amused smile playing at the corners of his lips.

I narrowed my eyes. "How long did you actually stay?"

His face was emphatic, as was his voice. "An hour."

"Horse sh—"

The arm that had been hanging loosely curled up to cover my mouth.

"Bit unladylike, even for you." He winked at me and I bit the fleshy part of his thumb.

"You know, I would have been more than happy to blow off homework for you."

"I don't have a phone to call you with." I mocked, once my mouth was freed.

"You have a key to my room."

"I have a key to every room."

"Will you be using that key anytime soon?"

Oh.

He was asking me if we were done. Broken up, though it wouldn't really be a break-up, would it? I didn't…feel like it was a break-up. Like anything was ending. Because I was sitting here, comfy as a clam with his arm around me, talking about nonsense and nothing.

I swallowed. "Only to steal your t-shirts I suppose. It's inhumane to all the sheep that you have so many."

Edward snorted. "They need to be sheared. It's not like Fruit of the Loom is slaughtering them or anything."

And just like that we were broken up. Easily. No fuss.

Just like everything else about us.

No fuss.

Easy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The next two weeks were hell. A hell of papers, final assignments, study guides, and library time as finals crept closer.

It was interesting to see how these calm, composed, classy students comported themselves during this period of insane stress.

The overall result was actually quite amusing.

Some students became obsessed with playing Christmas music; stringing holiday lights and candy canes on their doors, windows, and person. They presented with an almost drugged-up sense of cheeriness and exuberance, only to completely freak out and begin screaming at the first person that even mildly suggested they tone the holiday cheer down.

Others showed up to class looking like they hadn't slept in months, not days. Dark circles, unkempt hair, wrinkled clothes, the beautiful people were fading and in their place were ordinary teenagers feeling an enormous amount of pressure to prove themselves worthy of their upbringing.

Still others treated the whole thing with disdain, mocking the library-dwellers (such as myself) and singing x-rated versions of Christmas carols that questioned the validity of Mary's "immaculate" conception.

Edward was one of these.

He wasn't so outward in his disdain, but he went about his normal routine, spending not a minute more than usual in the library or studying for the cumulative finals that would be happening in a less than a week.

I fell into the second category. I was an obsessive studier. Skipping lunch for the library, spending all my time on what could only be called "my" table, as I scowled as ugly as possible at anyone who came near.

And Rosalie? Rosalie, as per usual, fell into none of these categories. She wasn't outwardly stressed, and she certainly wasn't bubbling over with the spirit of Christmas, but she was spending three hours every day after school studying.

With Dr. Carlisle.

And when I had elegantly expressed my disbelief of the whole "studying" concept in a variety of double entendres and expletives, Rosalie had gotten right up in my face, showing me pages of notes and research, including an almost finished literary review of _The Grapes of Wrath_, which I hadn't even started.

Apparently Dr. Carlisle refused to even _touch_ Rosalie while they were studying, in an effort to make sure Rosalie's grades were at the head of the class. Any and all fooling around (which apparently was not much by the sexual tension Rosalie came home radiating every evening) happened after the books had been put away; which was only when Rosalie had perfected every verb tense, solved every problem while showing her meticulous work, and holding no less than a five minute conversation in only Spanish with her teacher cum boyfriend darling.

I had no idea how much of that was true, but from the look on Rosalie's face when she was detailing out those three hours for me, I'd say more than 95% of it.

Unfortunately, Rosalie's sudden transformation into good girl and super pupil left me without a study buddy, and I was left to madness on my own.

On the Friday before finals, when I retreated to the library during lunch I dropped my enormous pile of books, only to find green eyes staring at me from behind rectangular black frames, looking decidedly unamused. Possibly at me, but probably because he was sitting in the library, a place he generally hated due to "lack of character." According to Edward, libraries are supposed to be a dusty, dark, and full of nooks and crannies to mess around in..

Olaf's library was complete redone last year; it was lit up like a prison border, and painted with a light, soothing shade of taupe.

"You assumed I'd stop being your friend if we stopped having sex." He accused evenly.

Oh.

Admittedly I had been avoiding him. Avoiding how easily everything came to him, avoiding his scoffing at people (like me) who worked so hard to gain everything he brushed off with a wave of his too elegant hand, avoiding lunches with him, avoiding having to have that awkward experience in which it would become clear he wouldn't be rescuing me from potentially ego damaging situations.

In my defense, studying so I didn't get kicked out of St. Olaf's was a really good reason for avoiding my now ex-who-didn't-seem-like-an-ex.

Friends with benefits?

Sorta-kinda going out people?

Evil mastermind fuck buddies?

I'd have to dedicate some time to figuring out exactly what Edward and I were during the Christmas break.

"You don't have to…I can take care of myself." Meet new people who knew me as either the girl who was 'sharing' two, if not three (if you counted what people thought after I punched Jax in the nuts) of the school's purebreds with another chick, or the alligator lady who was a total outcast.

I could totally become friends with those people. Totally.

Because no one in high school cares about stereotypes or reputations, they all look beneath the surface for the true person living beneath the hierarchy of titles.

Right.

Fuck.

I needed Edward, as Rosalie was eschewing contact with anyone but her darling doctor and myself currently.

"Alice." Edward's tone was less pissy, but still slightly haughty. "Did you really think I was just going to act like you never existed after we stopped…" His eyebrow quirked, finishing the rest of the sentence for him. "That's absurd."

I blushed, embarrassed that I had underestimated him.

After all, isn't ignoring your ex what you were supposed to do?

"I'm sorry."

Edward waved the apology aside.

"I hunted you down because I have a proposition—a favor to ask of you."

The word change was deliberate.

"My sister is shooting a catalogue spread of…something. She rambles a lot, and I tend to tune her out. Anyway, she needs someone to help her out since the shoot in on the second of January and her assistant will still be on holiday." He looked expectantly at me, though he hadn't asked me anything yet.

"I'm flying home for Christmas. To Mississippi."

"The company has to fly her in too, no reason they can't fly in her 'assistant', right? The shoot is somewhere in Virginia."

"I don't know, what would she want me to do?"

"No clue. Probably just keep her company. She runs off at the mouth kind of like…you do. You'll get along well. It's a paid job, and the company will pay for your hotel. Just say yes. Esme will only stalk my voicemail if I tell her you said no."

And so I said yes. And Edward's smile almost blinded me. He stood and stretched, giving me an eyeful of his lean torso and long arms.

I blinked.

Ex or no, the man was drool-worthy.

I casually wiped my mouth.

"Come on. You've doubtlessly been breathing in too much febreezed air in here this week. It's burrito day in the cafeteria."

He stacked the books and leaned them against his hip, reaching out with his other arm to pull me up and out of the seat, prodding me towards the exit.

Edward and I sat at the table that had once been reserved for the four of us. We sat across from one another, instead of side by side, and we talked about our respective presentations for science class.

When we walked out when the bell rang, there was a little more physical space between us than there had previously been, and a platonic ease with which we parted at the exit of the cafeteria. Whereas Edward would have walked me to class a two weeks ago, this time he popped in his headphones, told me to stop stressing about finals weeks, and nodded good-bye to me before blending (not entirely well, because he's Edward) into the rest of the student population.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Esme Cullen shared her half brother's shock of bronze hair, but little else. Her face was beautiful certainly, but not nearly as exotic as Edward's. Instead Esme had (what I assumed was) the bone structure from her mother, which was that of a heart-shaped face and a nose that was just a touch too haughty to be welcoming if she wasn't smiling at you.

Luckily for me, she was.

She was standing at the security check point of the airport, wearing charcoal grey pants and a burgundy-colored wrap top with matching dangling earrings. Her hair was cascading in smooth curls around her shoulders, and a massive designer bag hung from one arm.

It bounced against my hip as I was enveloped into a hug before I could even say 'hello'.

"Alice! Fantastic. I had to go to all of this trouble to manipulate my brother into letting me meet you, and you are gorgeous! Clearly worth the time and effort."

And before I could process that little statement, she had hooked elbows with me and led me towards the car rental services.

When we slid into our respective seats of the nondescript, navy Toyota, Esme pulled out her GPS, programmed it and zoomed out of the parking garage like she was an Indy 500 driver, talking the entire time.

"Edward tells you me you prefer sketching to photography, which is perfectly perfect because if they screw up my set, I'll need someone who can show them what I want."

Edward had told his sister I liked to draw?

I wasn't aware that Edward paid that much attention to details.

"I'm taking drawing 2 right now, but I'm no artist."

"Neither am I." Esme's light brown eyes blinked at me once before returning to the road. "Fat lot of good my B.A. in consumer economics is doing me. And don't even get me started on my half-finished master's degree. Total waste. Photography was my minor, but I can afford to pursue it. I'm hardly a starving artist, and to all the 'true' artists out there suffering, I'm just a sell-out with an inheritance. Besides, it drives my father crazy, which is really just icing on the cake."

I was curious about Edward Cullen Sr. Neither of his children seemed to hold him in their high graces.

"So how was your first semester at dear old Olaf's?"

I tried not to cringe. "It was fine."

Esme burst out laughing, muffled by the palm she held up to her lips to stifle the sound.

"Life at Olaf's is never fine, Alice. It is either hellishly divine or divinely hellish."

"Uh, the second one?" And while that wasn't how I would have phrased it, Esme did have a way with words.

Divinely hellish indeed.

Esme nodded, in time with the techo-punk beat that was coming out of the only radio station we could find, and I decided it was time for some interrogation of my own.

"So you manipulated Edward to meet me?"

Esme's lips curled.

"Sure. Mom got a phone call from the school saying Edward had been having a female in his room after hours and despite 'repeated warnings' he seemed disinclined to do anything to remove said female. You. So of course I had to meet you."

"I don't follow. Do you meet every person who visits Edward's room?"

"Well, no. But the Dean specified that it was _a_ girl, singular. That's what caught my attention. Edward getting in trouble for a girl is pretty unusual."

"He got in trouble? He never mentioned anything to me." I grumbled, embarrassed. How many girls did Edward having staying in his room if I caused this much attention from his family?

"Edward doesn't do trouble. I'm sure he gave the Dean some flippant answer about cohabiting to save the cleaning staff the cost of washing more linens. It's not like calling home was going to help, and the Dean knew it. My mom, Edward's step mother, can't be bothered to actually parent Edward, and my father is swelling with pride at the thought that his son is such a ladies' man."

Esme's nose wrinkled, but there was a tender smile playing around her lips that told me she couldn't blame her brother either. He really was too charming for his own good.

It took an hour to get to the hotel we were staying at, which was an hour filled with talk about the shoot tomorrow, music, movies, and our respective holidays. I had precious little to say on the last. Surprisingly, neither did Esme, and we moved along accordingly.

We checked into our separate rooms, and Esme appeared ten minutes later.

"Let's grab supper, shall we? I have thousands of things I want to ask you yet."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

We arrived at the warehouse building of Mai Ling Enterprises before seven in the morning. Mai Ling, the daughter of the creator of the fashion line, was there to greet us and show us into a room with a faux wooden floor and a backdrop depicting what appeared to be a bar.

Classy.

Esme eyed the set and I could see the distaste turning her thin lips downward.

"I thought these clothes were supposed to be both work friendly and socially acceptable out on the town."

Mai Ling shrugged. "Our representatives claimed this would help them sell better. Larger marketing age group. Possibly help us pull in some young teenagers as well."

"Different chairs. Bar stools are…abominations to clothing lines. Find me high-backed chairs."

Esme issued the request as if it were a command, sending the young woman away with her aloofness.

By ten we were set up, but the models weren't finished with make-up and hair yet, and Esme had me make a coffee run.

In the three hours that I had been working I had removed the neon nights from behind the bar and replaced them with soft orange, pinks, and purple lights behind the bar bottles. Likewise I had made runs for extension cords, set up Esme's laptop and made notes as Esme talked nonstop.

By the time the first model appeared, I had hooked up the speakers to the laptop and some wordless jazz piano tracks were playing on repeats.

I ran fans, held up lighting screens, found the make-up people to administer touch-ups, and made sure Esme always had something to drink, as she was already sounding hoarse from calling out directions from behind her camera.

By noon, Esme was refusing to take an hour break for lunch, insisting that since the models weren't going to use it except to smoke (which earned her some very dirty looks) she wouldn't either.

She adamantly stated she was not coming back tomorrow to finish this job.

After that, she told me I could grab a sandwich and take an hour off if I wanted, which earned me some very dirty looks.

I took her up on the former and got myself lunch (celery sticks and cucumber sandwiches), bringing some back for her.

She stole a single cucumber sandwich and went back to calling out directions, slightly mumbled due to the food that was still in her mouth.

"God, that is unattractive." Esme said beneath her breath, meant only for ears.

The model in question was a rust colored satin top with brown leather chap-esque pants and stilettos. The model was doing her best to emphasis the wide bottoms and tight thighs of the pants, but it simply was a bit much for a catalogue spread.

"Should have paired it with some wide leg brown pants, maybe cut at the knee. With knee-high boots." I contemplated, loving the color of the top and how it shimmered under the sunset effect of the lights as the model got on top of the bar and crossed her legs, doing her best to hide the pants.

Clever.

Esme kept snapping, but her head wasn't turned in the direction of her camera or the scene in front of her. Clearly these pictures meant very little to her.

Those light brown eyes were on me.

She didn't say anything, just pursed her lips and eventually called out that the outfit (and the model in it) was finished.

As we waited on the next model, Esme handed me her camera and went to sit and look at the prints so far on her computer.

"You know, I thought Edward would volunteer Rosalie for this little assignment. When she was fourteen she used to love to hang out on sets and meet the models."

I put my eye up to the lens of the camera experimentally. It was heavy. Esme must be packing some serious arm muscle to hoist it around all day.

"Yes, well, Rosalie isn't fourteen anymore. Are your families close?"

Esme shrugged, eyes not leaving the computer. I could see the white-blue glare of the LCD screen reflected in her pupils.

"Not particularly. Senator Hale is a powerful man, which is about the only thing he and my father have in common. Still. Money breeds money, connections breed connections. It's a vicious cycle. No, I was referring to the fact that Edward has imagined himself in love with Rosalie Hale for years."

I almost dropped the camera.

I caught it against my hips and whirled my head to meet Esme's, who still, infuriatingly, was not looking at me.

Not caring she had just exposed her brother to his ex-girlfriend-sex-buddy of sorts.

"You okay?"

"You know?"

"I know what?" Deliberately obtuse. It didn't suit Esme any more than it suited Edward.

"Edward…has a crush on Rosalie."

Gah, could the word 'crush' have sounded any more trivial and foolish?

"Edward doesn't have a crush. He has an overactive, analytical, hormone-ridden brain with a slight side of OCD."

"I don't follow."

"Edward thinks Rosalie would be a good fit. And on the analytical side of the brain, it's not the worst plan ever. Two influential blueblood families that are extremely wealthy would be joined. Rosalie has her own money, her own social reputation to uphold, and most importantly, her own brain. She's no mindless Stepford. Edward despises trophy-wives, but more so he despises ivy league educated trophy wives, when they could have been doctors or lawyers.

And then there's the fact that Rosalie showed up to our house at the age of eleven in a two piece suit and heaven help the man who tries to fight the attraction to his first wet dream."

I choked. "Ew! Really?"

Esme shrugged. "I don't want to know. But if Rosalie Hale isn't every man's fantasy, then she's a strong ninety-five percent of them."

"Which makes her a trophy." I frowned. "Edward is no better than anyone else out there."

Not even Dr. Carlisle.

"You won't hear me argue that point, but Edward doesn't want her for that. He wants her solely because she has the cajones to brawl him out and she doesn't fall for his bullshit."

"Edward has some seriously messed up ideas about relationships."

"No, Edward has a fear of being vulnerable to another human being. He can't stand to allow anyone to see that he has flaws. In case you haven't noticed, he doesn't exactly have friends. You're the closest thing, and I was so stunned when he told me about you a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving that I knew I had to meet you. For whatever reason, Edward blocked me when I picked him up for the holiday, but I just had to meet whoever it was that was capable of treating him like a friend. Like a teenaged horndog with flaws….FINALLY!"

Esme stood as the model appeared and we went back to work.

The photography was done by three in the afternoon, but clean-up took nearly two hours, which left me precariously close to missing my flight.

As were leaving, two of the interns were pushing racks of clothing across the now empty hall.

"Wait." Esme called, and motioned them over.

"Yes?" One of the girls asked, her face weary and happy presumably that all the models had gone.

Esme turned to me. "Pick out an outfit."

"Excuse me?"

"The elder Mai Lang and I are acquainted, and this is one of the perks of working in the business. The pants might be a bit long on you, but I'm sure you can find something."

"I couldn't possibly."

"Sure you can. I'm going to."

And with that, Esme began picking through the racks. And to my surprise, she plucked out the rust-colored top and addressed the interns.

"Do you have some brown boots and wide leg pants to go with this?"

I gaped at her and she winked at me.

"Now come on Alice, you're going to miss your flight. And don't forget about the jewelry."

In the end I picked out a black racer back top with a drop-waist skirt attached that was crocheted and had a silver ribbon at the waist to give me the appearance of curves. I also had two pairs of earrings and a pair of strappy stilettos I would have to practice in for weeks.

We ran to the car, my flight less than two hours away, but with Esme's tendency to drive like her last name was Andretti, we made it on time and she stood with me as I checked in and got my ticket.

"Your check will be directly deposited into your bank account, sometime within the next pay period, so two weeks maximum. Let me know if you don't get it."

I protested, the clothes (which probably cost a semester's tuition at Olaf's) folded neatly into my carry-on. "You're ridiculous."

"Of course I am, but not about this. You're getting the same pay as my usual assistant. Besides, you were great. If you weren't stuck in the middle of nowhere, I'd be calling you more often to help out. But I usually stop out at Olaf's a couple of times a semester to see a…friend from college, if you catch my meaning? Course you do, you're a smart girl. But anyway, he seems to have found a new…friend, so I'll just to settle for visiting you and tormenting my baby brother."

She smiled, and I off-handedly wondered what man had the gall to ditch Esme, beautiful, vivacious Esme Cullen for another girl.

Esme swept me up into a hug and I smiled at the subtle perfume lingering.

"Now Alice. Call if you need anything, and-and don't be scared to be a goddamn Amazon around those people."

I laughed in shock. "That's the first time I've heard you swear all weekend. I mean, you've got a mouth on you, but actually cuss words…and taking the lord's name in vain in well? Shocking."

Esme smiled dryly. "If there was ever one rule of etiquette that mother drilled into me it was that cursing was the lowest sign of class. Extremely unladylike."

I nodded, thinking of my own potty-mouth.

"Thanks for everything Esme."

"See you soon Alice."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

St. Olaf's was covered in a fine layer of powdery snow. My boots crunched as I walked across the campus.

I trudged into Whitlock and put my bags down in our cold suite, moving immediately to crank the heat from the old radiator in the corner.

Rosalie was here, I could tell from the mountains of luggage and delivery food cartons. But as she wasn't actually in the room, I collapsed onto my bed and groaned in relief.

What a weird weekend.

What a weird break.

I rolled onto my back and noticed a glimmer of gold sitting on top of my desk.

It was a small rectangular package, wrapped in shiny red paper and a jaunty gold bow.

I went to the desk and picked up the pink post-it note next to the gift.

'Wanted to wish you a Merry Christmas, but I didn't have your phone number.'

The looping, fine-handed cursive told me, definitely Rosalie's handwriting.

I opened the box and stared.

A cell phone stared back at me.

I picked it up and ran a finger over the shiny silver keys, startled when the phone burst to life and a swirling background of color with my name on it popped up on the screen.

I hit the down arrow and was surprised to see three names already listed in my phone book.

Edward.

Emmett.

Rosalie.

I dug the card Esme had given me out of my back pocket and added her name and number to my list.

It wasn't a big list.

But it was my list.


	21. The Asshole on the White Horse

"_**People don't like the true and simple; they like **__**fairy tales**__** and humbug.**__**"**_

Chapter 21: The Asshole on the White Horse

Two weeks into the semester I was running to class in the morning, quite unused to the sheets of ice that were coating the sidewalks.

I didn't see the body right in front of me until it was too late and I was skidding, unable to stop myself.

I heard the person I had attempted to run over exhale in a huff as his arms came around me and both of our precarious balances swayed as we toppled into the snow and ice.

"Son of a…ouch." I mumbled, rubbing my sore knee.

"Couldn't have said it better myself." The voice next to me drawled, detaching his arm to rub his elbow. "You alright?"

"You mean apart from the fact that I've got snow up my skirt?"

A low chuckle reverberated almost into my own skin, and I finally sat up enough to survey the boy I had run down.

The tendency to gape was hard to resist.

Blonde curls in a wild disarray of style were naturally highlighted with bleach-like strands, and his skin was a caramel tone that did not come from a tanning bed. It came only from a place where the word winter was not associated with snow and ice and multiple layers of clothing.

He had a crooked nose; like perhaps he had broken it when he was a kid, riding horses and playing cowboys and Indians.

And he had a smile that could melt butter, which was sheepishly aimed at me.

His hands were large, rough, and nail-bitten. His school-issued tie was hanging undone around his neck, and everything else about the uniform screamed how wrong he looked, done up like the rest of Them, when he clearly did _not _belong in any such category.

But it wasn't the raw good looks and the disheveled hair that was causing me to stare.

It was that if his face was a little less tanned and broad, and his jaw a little more rounded instead of squared, he could easily pass as a clone for…

And that voice.

That was exactly the same. Same twang, same depth, same honey-like tone with just a hint of arrogance.

Same brown eyes.

I exhaled and ran a hand through my hair, brushing away any snow. He did likewise, but neither of us made any move to stand.

"Is there a fire or a shoe sale that I should have been forewarned of, or do you usually do the hundred yard dash on sheets of ice?"

I stiffened. "I'm late to class. The bell rang a couple of minutes ago."

And if I hadn't fallen asleep in detention, I would have been on time.

"I know. Been tryin' to find the Kessler building. I have geometry now."

Geometry. A sophomore.

But not any sophomore that I had ever seen before.

And as if he read my thoughts, he extended a hand to me. "I'm new. Starting classes today. I'm—"

"Christ on a crutch Alice, what did you do?"

I turned to see Emmett leisurely on his way to class, staring at me and the almost-clone sitting in the snow.

And before I could reply, his arm was around my waist, pulling me to me feet and dusting snow off my blazer.

His hands.

On my person.

His big, _warm_ hands moving down to my skirt to the thighs beneath the material, brushing off snow.

Like it was his right.

Like he hadn't been ignoring me for weeks.

Like the boy on the ground next to me didn't exist.

Or like he was sending the boy on the ground a message.

Hands off.

I shoved his hands away testily. "I accidentally, maybe, possibly ran over this nice gentlemen while trying to get to class on time and he might have fallen down while trying to keep us upright."

Emmett's smile was genuine.

"You knocked him over? You?" His meaning couldn't have been more clear as he looked down at me, his width nearly twice of me.

Next to Emmett, I looked (and occasionally felt) like a hobbit.

The new boy was on his feet now, dusting off his own clothes.

"There might have been an ice patch involved." He drawled with a smile.

"I really am sorry." I said, and was startled to feel Emmett's arm drape across my shoulders.

"Alice. You weight maybe a solid hundred pounds. I don't think you've done any permanent damage. Now come on, I'll walk you over to Delmelza."

I frowned. "You're not taking sculpting."

The smile flashed again. "Got my schedule changed this morning."

He held up the paper, which presumably held the proof.

I rolled me eyes. "Are you actually going to attend class this semester?"

Emmett shrugged. "First time for everything, isn't there? Let's go. It's frickin' cold out here."

The new boy was watching our exchange idly. I turned to him and gave him an apologetic smile. Emmett was being rather rude.

"Kessler is the second building on the right, just there." I pointed and he followed my finger and nodded. "Sorry I made you even later."

He waved me off. "No worries. Not like I was exactly looking forward to my first day."

I nodded sympathetically and waved good-bye as Emmett and I made our way to the art studios.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When Emmett was done getting a very stern lecture about the attendance policies from the tiny, white-haired woman who taught the sculpting class, who everyone simply referred to as Lady Anita, he plopped down next to me and eyeballed the rough drawing I had done of what I wanted my first clay sculpture to look like.

It was a disaster.

He merely smirked and rolled some ceramic clay between his fingers.

"Cullen told me you two aren't shacking up any more."

I sighed audibly and strands of my hair blew off of my forehead.

"Emmett, either say what you need to say to me or get out."

Emmett looked away from me, mumbling something.

"What was that?"

"Why did Cullen have to tell me? I thought…I thought after that day that you'd tell me."

I stared blankly at the replica of the human hand that I had foolishly been trying to recreate with clay.

"I…I've been busy." Busy looking after Rosalie, who spent every waking hour possible with a teacher who was infinitely better equipped to "look after" Rose in a way that she would actually appreciate. Busy sitting on my ass, bored to tears, as I sketched ideas for new outfits and waited for Rosalie to appear.

Busy pretending to be busy so I wouldn't feel lonely.

"Yeah. Busy." Emmett said in a strained voice.

"I should have told you." I said quietly, my eyes still on the misshapen form on the table.

"Don't worry about it. You were busy…you know what? I'm busy too. And I don't think this going to class thing is for me. Later Alice."

And he was gone before I could even comprehend that the weird look on his face had been hurt.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I waited up for Rosalie until midnight, when she appeared, breathless and surprises as she slipped inside the doors, well past curfew.

"You're still up."

"You have bite marks on your collarbone." And bruised lips.

Rosalie flushed, and her smile nearly lit up the entire room. Her hand went up to the v of her eggplant-colored sweater and touched the marks lightly.

She collapsed onto the bed next to me, quite a feat as it was so narrow. Her arm went around my waist and her eyes danced.

"I can't even stand it Alice."

"Can't stand what?"

There was a long pause. Then Rosalie's eyes cleared slightly and she glanced at me.

"We haven't had sex yet."

"Say what?" I gaped.

"We've never had sex. I think it's some kind of mental barrier. Student, teacher, teacher, student—I think he thinks that's too far over the line."

I snorted with the elegance of a rhino. "You've been fooling around for how long? But actually having sex is crossing the line. Unbelievable."

"You said you weren't going to judge, and it's literally driving me around the twist. Some days in class I swear my clothes are going to just catch on fire because he's got me panting for it so bad. I can't concentrate on the math, I just keeping have these flashes of fucking him on every inch of that desk, with every student in the room watching, wishing they had the balls to go after something they want, and damn the consequences to hell."

I squeezed my eyes shut to block off that slew of visuals. "Christ Rose, have you mentioned all that to _him_?"

Rose's face snuggled into my pillow. We were both lying on our sides, one half of our face blocked by the pillow, making only one eye visible to one another as we eyeballed the other.

"You think?" She replied dryly. "He tells me he needs me to be patient. But if he thinks we're waiting until I'm eighteen he's clearly out of his fucking head. I will hijack that cock if I have to, but I will be on it before the month is out. It's probably not healthy to be so turned on all the time. ALL. THE. TIME. I dream about him, I can't get enough of his fucking _gorgeous_ cock, and his hands—"

Rose broke off and shuddered, eyes shutting.

Wow.

Who knew it? Rosalie Hale, gushing over wonders of love, instead of pragmatically listing the practicalities of sex.

I felt a twinge in my stomach and rolled onto my back.

"Oh." Rosalie had come back from la-la-land. "I'm sorry Alice. You haven't had sex since…Thanksgiving? Christmas? And here I am, couldn't get my mouth to shut if Mike Newton was trying to shove _his_ cock in. I'm….."

"Ass over elbows in love with your teacher?" I suggested idly.

"Horny." Rosalie said, and I could feel her evil look being pointed in my direction.

We were quiet for a moment, listening to the sounds of the old building settling in for another winter night.

"Rose, how long have you and Dr. Carlisle been…"

"You want the long story, or the short version?" Rosalie said, settling in like I had already told her I preferred the former.

I was too easy to read.

"It all started with Royce, which is a pretty sad statement, because Royce is a twatwaffle of epic proportions. I knew he wasn't hanging out with anyone I should be associating with, but he showed up at parties every once in a while and I knew why. Don't think I didn't. I don't even remember how we met exactly…only that I was on my way to get blitzed and turn down some boys who were so desperate to get laid it was almost embarrassing how much they fawned over me."

So Rosalie was unaware that Edward had introduced the two. I wondered to myself if that would make him feel better or worse. Probably neither. He was completely content to take the blame, even though Rosalie clearly knew it was her own fault.

"I didn't start with blow. I didn't even do any weed for the first month. But I went with him to various parties and let the gutter-dwellers stare and fall all over themselves. I was a freshman and I really, really liked being at the top of the 'girls everyone wants to fuck first' list. Never mind that I had already slept with one of my older brother's friends the previous summer—"

"Jesus. That's how you lost your virginity?"

Rose shot me a testy look. "I wanted to choose. And I didn't want it to be with some clueless high school punk. So I seduced this guy and got him to teach me all about sex. Much more practical than waiting for someone I actually liked. That's just too much pressure."

I stared at her. This coming from the girl who, five minutes ago, was all but dying for a little loving from a man she wouldn't admit to loving.

"Stop interrupting. The first time I did weed I got a terrible, terrible migraine. And a rash. Among other things. I didn't like feeling so fuzzy. So Royce suggested that like my upbringing, my body would only truly like the 'good' stuff. Marijuana was too low-brow for me I suppose. Blow was daring, and I thought it was impressive that a freshman had that kind of knowledge, and the access to some serious shit. I certainly impressed the older guys, but Royce never let them get to me, which is just about the only nice thing I can say about that sorry fucker.

I guess we started having sex shortly after I started, I don't think I can actually pick out the first time from my haze of memories, only that we started doing it a lot. And I was perfectly content with getting what I wanted out of that relationship, until the thing I wanted was to get out.

While this was going on, all the girls were salivating over Carlisle, including myself. It's practically a rite of passage or a school tradition. I didn't think twice about it, except as a little fantasy material. I'd flirt and roll my skirt higher for his class, and at first I was determined to impress him with how easy math was for me.

He smiled and complimented my mathematic ability, but other than that, nada. I was okay with it; I was fifteen he was in his mid twenties. I was positive he had some insanely beautiful supermodel at home and it wasn't a big deal. Not that I didn't get more daring with each passing day. More cleavage, sexed-up hair, smiles that should make cocks salute like it was Flag Day, the usual. But I did that with everybody. Literally. I was hiding the fact that the come-downs from using were horrific by being the most sexually blatant person possible. It tends to distract people. It was a good cover-up, and it allowed me to catch Carlisle's eye. He flirted sometimes, I think, and he expressed his hopes that I would go into a math-related field. But nothing inappropriate.

I didn't think the man knew the word inappropriate until one day Royce was waiting for me with a 'gift'. I think he was trying to get me to do something…anal maybe??? The smack always helped. But I had other ideas. So I kicked the poor bastard out, got loosely high, and headed back to Kessler, in my smuttiest heels and my shortest skirt.

Can you just imagine my fucking shock that Dr. Carlisle was otherwise occupied? Tanya Denali, stupid skank, was already there, already in stilettos and an indecently short skirt with white, school-girl panties. She was me, except she had gotten there first. And she was swallowing his dick like her ticket to Harvard was going to come bursting out any second.

The look on his face….I have never, bar none, ever seen a look like that on a man's face. I can't even describe how he looked; only that he looked like he was in ecstasy. Better than any drug I had ever tried, better than any sex I had ever had.

I decided right then and there that I'd have him, because that was what I wanted."

Like it was that simple.

And maybe it had been for Rosalie up until that point. See, want, get. Repeat as needed.

Rosalie fell quiet and I turned my head to see her picking at her nails, which were bitten again, a true sign of her sexual frustration.

"Royce didn't appreciate being told to fuck off, did he?" I asked quietly.

Rosalie huffed. "Especially not when I was still a customer. He knew how I got when I used. There wasn't anyone in the world that I couldn't conquer in a variety of ways. More than one night I thought I had killed him with sex.

We were both coming down when it happened. I demanded he take me back to the dorms, he refused and I just…snapped. Smacked the shit out of his left cheek and clawed his neck.

The next thing I know, he's fucking me while we're both slapping and trying to beat the hell out of one another. I finally got a death-lock on his balls and threatened to do permanent damage before he let me go. Sick fuck looked like he was enjoying it too.

I walked back to my dorm and I thought I was going to pass out. I remember that Edward was there trying to help, but I didn't want help. Not from him. Not from anyone.

After that, it got ugly. I started failing math on purpose so I could hang around for tutoring, hoping to get 'in' like Tanya. And I was using more often, mostly because if I wasn't going to do my homework, that meant I could party any day of the week.

I was high when I went to his house one night. Completely out of it. I threw myself at him, fell on my knees and tried to repeat that scene I had pictured so many times, only with me instead of Tanya.

I think that's the first time he realized just how deep I was in. I didn't even know at the time. But he waited until I had come down a little and then he fed me and drove me back to St. Olaf's. I was so out of it that I just figured he had given me some line about crossing the student/teacher lines and sent me on my merry way, but I was wrong.

He waited until after class one day and then proceeded to tell me that I was sabotaging myself for something was never going to happen. He waited until I was completely there, not messed up on chemicals, and then he pretty much ripped out my guts. Tore me apart into so many tiny little pieces that I couldn't even be hurt or sad or anything. Anything but completely and utterly pissed.

For the rest of the year I fucked around with some guys I knew, did a lot of smack, and occasionally fucked Royce just to taunt him that I could have him whenever I wanted. Flunked math, passed my other classes with C's and a couple of D's. Got so fucking sick of the lip service and fakeness of everything that I just hid in the fake high of the drugs.

Carlisle told me a week before school was out that I had an F in his class and would need to repeat it. I'm sure I made some innuendo or said something…but suddenly he was _yelling_ at me. Yelling, like the way my father did when he thought someone was a screw-up, a complete waste of space and time and effort.

He told me I was perpetuating every single rotten stereotype on the planet, and that I was a huge disappointment to him personally. That I was immature and childish and sullen. He thought I was vain and petty and nothing more than a sack of skin and bones with no true character beneath."

"So he basically said you were Paris Hilton?" I suggested, horrified and intrigued by Rosalie's story.

"Worse than. He maligned my character so hard that I was struck by the obvious. At one point and time he thought I had some worthy characteristics, and that now I was wasting them. I mean, if he hadn't been calling me a sluttastic whore, it would have been a classic after-school special moment. Teacher tells student she has potential to be more than she is. Carlisle was angry with me because I was wasting myself on the cretins who attend this school.

And then he kissed me. Really kissed me, like he was punishing me and trying to find me all at the same time. Like he couldn't help himself. Like he had seen into the future and he knew the kind of person I was going to turn out to be. Like that was the girl he was kissing.

And after months of self-destructive behavior, it took the man less than a minute to make me see how completely fucked I was."

"So you decided to stop?"

"I decided I was going to have him, no matter the cost. I went through hell and back, during the school year, during the summer, and I wanted something that was worthwhile to focus on, to plan for. You don't plan for the easy things. They just come to you. But the hard things—sitting up at night choking on acid and shaking so hard I could feel my teeth rattling—that was hard. Not conforming and meeting everyone else's expectations of me? That's hard. Having someone like Carlisle there to remind me that I'm worth something more than an epically amazing rack and a closet full of designer threads? It's not easy. I have to be better so I feel like I deserve to have him."

"And holding out for sex? How hard is that?"

"Hardest thing yet, and I wish I was joking. But it'll be the best thing yet, I don't give a shit how good shooting up feels. I worked fucking _hard_ for that man, and sooner or later I will reap some benefits that will hopefully render me unable to walk for nearly a week."

I smiled at Rosalie's aggravated tone.

Despite the cloud of lust, Rosalie was exceedingly clear-headed these days.

And scarily enough, blissfully happy.

Rosalie had chosen the harder path. Not the path filled with easy fucks and feel-good drugs.

I had always assumed she was screwing around with her teacher because her teacher came onto her and Rosalie liked being thought of as beautiful and superior, being what the other kids weren't.

Rosalie was superior because she knew how to work for what she wanted.

Knew what she wanted in the first place.

I didn't know what I wanted. I had taken easy paths and hard paths and paths that wound up and down so much that I was dizzy and a bit sick.

When I had been offered a hard path, I had gone with the easy.

And when the easy path turned hard, I back away from that one too.

Thinking I could shield myself, like Rosalie.

Thinking I could be cool and smooth and untouchable, like Rosalie.

Thinking that if I didn't take the hard path, no one could get to me and make me feel inferior.

And while I had been thinking, Emmett had been waiting.

Waiting for me to tell him I was done with easy.

I smirked.

Edward wouldn't appreciate being called 'easy.'

Rosalie was watching me. I blinked.

"Where'd you go?" She asked quietly.

"Nowhere." I said dismissively, waving my hand at her. "I'm tired. Not all of us have sexy professors to keep us up all night."

Rosalie's eyes called me a liar, but she thankfully didn't say anything out loud.

I closed my eyes and I when I opened them again, Rose was gone and it was morning.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rosalie uncharacteristically appeared on Friday afternoon immediately after classes, looking grim.

"The pervfessor not able to get it up today?"

"He's twenty-six Alice. Not quite ready for those little blue love pills yet."

"So why the pouty face?"

"Rumors." She made another face and went to my half of the closet and began rooting through my carefully organized options.

"Uh…what are you doing?"

"Looking for…wow. When did you get this?"

She held up my dress from my time with Esme and I explained the details of that weekend.

"I love Esme, she's so…real. No bullshit, no shady crap. She's just after what she wants."

I nodded silently. "So why are you looking through my clothes?"

"We're crashing Emmett's date tonight."

"Excuse me?"

"Well, ok. There are technically two parts to this brilliant plan of mine. Allow me to educate you on the benefits of killing two birds with a single, well-placed date crashing."

I raised a brow. Well, that should be interesting.

"You and I are taking Edward to the movies tonight. You might want to text and ask him, I doubt he's very open to talking to me right now."

If she only knew.

"Emmett asked Lauren Mallory to the late show, which is really just code for 'it's a cheap old black and white movie that I'm going to grope you during'. Asshole can't even be bothered to take her to a new film where he'd have to pay full admission and bear the teasing of his jock friends. After all, the entire school knows he's been hung up on you, and then Edward of all people—skinny, pale Edward—won you, well temporarily. So he's been getting grief for months and apparently he's done being a kicked puppy. You, of course, would choose that exact same moment to spend the week brooding and being all quiet, which is entirely disturbing. Brooding does not work for you, it makes you look constipated."

I wasn't even going to touch how she knew I had spent my week mulling over the Emmett situation, especially since she was never here.

"And the second part of this plot?"

"People are talking. Well, people are always talking about me, but this time they're talking about my recent outbreak of…"

"Hickeys."

"Gross."

"Love bites?"

"Nauseating."

"Cat scratches?"

"Not plausible unless we want to be busted for having a pet in the dorms."

"Has anyone used the term 'teacher-fucker' yet?"

"No." Rosalie was glaring, I was grinning.

"So what you're not saying is that you need an excuse, preferably a horny, male, and seventeen year old excuse for those marks all over your neck, and I'm assuming, other places?"

Rosalie threw a pillow at me without heat.

"You're awful chipper for someone who has been pining."

"You weren't actually here to see me pine, so how do you know I was pining? I could have been tap dancing for all you would have been aware of. You're too busy being one half of a couple."

"God I like the sound of that….quit distracting me. It took me the better part of study hall today to figure this out in between naughty daydreams about my professor boyfriend."

Rosalie looked immensely smug at getting to use the word out loud.

"My apologies."

"Accepted. Edward can be my reason. You and Emmett, me and Edward, it's just like I originally planned. Edward is my beard, and Emmett can be your boyfriend."

I held up a newly painted finger.

"Two problems. Emmett hasn't wanted to speak to me since November and is trying to move on with Lauren Mallory. And two, even if that crazy ass plan does work, Edward isn't getting laid. The foundation of that incredibly stupid plan the first go-round was that they boys were getting laid. I can't imagine Edward would appreciate celibacy."

No more than he'd appreciate being a fake boyfriend to the girl he secretly imagined himself in love with, while having no idea that he actually would be a cover-up for an illegal affair between a student and a teacher.

Rose bit her lip. "Shit. I must be losing my mind, sex never even entered into the equation when I was drawing that up."

I stared.

Rosalie caught me gaping and flipped me off.

I nearly crowed with laughter.

"Rosalie Hale not thinking about sex? Hell has frozen over in Bumfuck, Massachusetts!"

"Shut up Alice and help me think."

But there was no solution. We puzzled for over an hour and then we grabbed food from the cafeteria and puzzled some more.

And by nine o' clock that evening, there was still nothing that could satisfy Rosalie's need for a fake boyfriend who would be agreeable to being a fake boyfriend without ulterior motives or a desire for sex, money, or the reason why Rosalie Hale needed a fake boyfriend in the first place.

"Well, we should go to the movie anyway. You still need to catch yourself a man, and you need to catch this one before he gets the clap from the disease ridden cooter that is Lauren Mallory."

Rosalie seemed a bit down, but I could tell she was trying to be a good friend to me. It was appreciated, and I finally felt like our walls were coming down.

Like this was the real thing.

Friendship. Ugly and honest and full of secrets and sex and laughter.

It was a good feeling.

I dressed in my new outfit, adding leggings and a zebra-print cardigan over the top so it wasn't too dressy. I added zebra-toned jewelry (courtesy of Rosalie) and did my hair and makeup.

"How are we getting to town?"

"I called Tony, my parent's driver. He had my Escalade brought down for the weekend."

My jaw dropped slightly.

"Come on Alice. By now you should be used to ridiculous displays of money. That skirt probably costs the better part of three hundred dollars."

My jaw snapped shut and I fought not to adjust my skirt.

Holy shit.

As we were on our way out, I paused to grab my cell phone.

"Sure you don't want me to call Edward?"

Rosalie nodded and tugged me down to her white Escalade.

We drove to the old movie theatre on the "bad" side of town. It was eleven thirty, the movie wouldn't start till midnight.

We bought out tickets and staked some claim in the back of the theatre.

Emmett and Lauren didn't show up until five minutes into the movie, with Lauren's arm around Emmett's waist, clinging to him as they giggled and stumbled to a seat in the dim movie theatre.

There was actually quite a crowd from St. Olaf's there, all in couples and all already playing rousing games of tonsil hockey in their seats.

No one was paying any attention to Bogart or his Maltese Falcon.

Rosalie nudged me as soon as Emmett and Lauren sat down, several rows ahead and to the right of us.

"What are you going to do?" She whispered.

"I thought you had this one planned out." I accused right back.

"The stalking thing, yes. But the actual confrontation?" Rosalie shook her head and continued to devour her gummy worms with surprising speed. "You're on your own."

Of course I was.

Well.

Esme had said to be an Amazon.

I grabbed the box of gummy worms.

"Hey!" Rosalie yelped and I hit her to shut her up.

"Hey!" Rosalie whispered loudly again. "Those are my favorite."

"What are you, four? I'll get you another box."

Rosalie shrugged and leaned back with her arms crossed, clearly not appeased.

"Pouty snob." I hissed.

"Trailer trash." She huffed.

"Elitist prig." I retorted.

"What the hell is a prig?"

I bit my lip to keep from smiling and handed her a gummy worm.

The rest I began to strategically throw in the direction of Lauren and Emmett, who were one blob of shadow ahead.

They weren't making out, but if Lauren got any closer, she'd be on his dick.

And I was in the process of proclaiming that I wanted that dick for myself.

One of my gummy worms hit Emmett in the back of the head.

"Hey!" He turned and I ducked, pulling Rosalie down with me.

We sat up a minute later.

More gummy worms began to fly as Rosalie got into the act, tossing them with surprising accuracy.

A couple hit Lauren in the back, one bounced off Emmett's shoulder. We ducked each time, not able to control our giggling as we ducked and then we would rise for only a second to hurl another worm.

"I'm out!" Rosalie gasped, laughing.

"Then I guess it's show time."

I hurled the remaining fistful of gummy worms and a shower of candy fell on them.

I stood up and watched as they both turned around to yell at whoever was torturing them.

Emmett froze, his arm around the back of Lauren's seat, as I walked down the aisle until I got to them.

"Hey. Enjoying the movie?"

I stuck the remaining gummy worm in my mouth with a small smirk.

"What the fuck are you doing Brandon?" Lauren yelped and suddenly I could hear a lot less macking and heavy breathing in the house.

Humphrey and his Bogart remained blissfully unaware up on the screen.

"Correcting an error. You see, you're here under the impression that the man to your right is available for you to sink your claws into and use for popularity gain and presumably bragging rights. I find it to be my responsibility to inform you that he's not."

Emmett's eyes were burning holes into mine.

His jaw was clenched and I could see the muscles beneath his long-sleeved shirt clenching.

He was furious.

Well good.

I hadn't exactly been thrilled to hear I was being replaced by Lauren Mallory.

Standards anyone?

"Alice."

Emmett's tone was a warning. One that clearly stated, "Get the hell away from me."

I ignored it.

"I made a mistake. Before Christmas. I'm the one who made a mistake."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Lauren demanded, looking at Emmett.

But Emmett's jaw just clenched even harder. He was probably grinding his teeth into sand.

My heart sped up.

Be an Amazon, Alice.

Be an Amazon.

"I want you to be that asshole on the white horse." I said simply. "I made a mistake, but people can fix mistakes. I can fix _this_ mistake."

The mistake that had sent us spiraling before Halloween, the mistake that had changed my gut response back in December, the mistake that had kept me silent when I finally realized what and who I wanted.

This wasn't romantic, it wasn't practical, and it sure as hell wasn't polite, but it had to be done.

I was crashing Emmett's date and trying to hijack Lauren's potential future fuck buddy.

This wasn't a fairy tale.

There was no damsel.

There was just me.

Just Alice.

Fighting for what she wanted.

Lauren seemed to have finally caught on to what I was doing and she jumped up, towering over me by two or three inches as she got right up in my face.

"I thought I had seen everything. But you. _You_ are an embarrassment. You show up and start sleeping your way through the population because you know no one would so much as look at you if you didn't. You're pathetic and Emmett doesn't want you around. Nobody does, so why don't you go home back to the swamp and get yourself knocked up by some nice guy who has no teeth and owns a double wide?"

Emmett was still sitting, staring at me.

Waiting for my reaction to his "date."

I wondered if I punched Lauren in the uterus like I did Jax, if it would hurt.

I wondered if I punched Lauren in the nose if I would get expelled.

No punching. I let my fist relax and my fingers unfurl.

"Lauren, have you ever wondered if guys shove their dicks in your mouth simply because they can't find another way to shut that hole in the middle of your face?"

Lauren's eyes widened and I saw her hand reach out, nails extended, to either slap me or pull my hair.

A fluid wrist whipped out to catch the hand before it struck.

Emmett was up and out of his seat a moment too late; he wasn't the one holding Lauren back from me.

I turned and in the dim saw sandy blonde hair, stylishly disheveled, and a crooked nose, holding Lauren's arm tightly in his hands.

The boy who had broken my fall on the ice with his body.

"You." I said, my eyebrows quirking up in shock.

"Nice to see you again Alice. Quite the mouth you've got on you." He looked to be holding in a chuckle.

"Where the hell did you come from?"

"Your friend asked me to keep an eye on you."

"My friend?"

"The blonde." He grinned. "You have some _nice_ friends."

Rosalie sauntered down the aisle like she had been waiting for an introduction.

"Jasper, I think you can release the she-devil. I'm sure she has to rush home for some _urgent_ reason right about now." Rosalie's tone was icy and cruel. Her best smirk was in place while she was glaring at the girl in question.

Lauren did indeed scramble out of the theatre at breakneck speech the moment she was released. She shoved by me in the aisle and left to the heckling and mocking of St. Olaf students throughout the theatre.

"Nice date you had there, McCarty."

Emmett grumbled and ran a hand through his matted down curls. "Shut up Whitlock."

I spun on the blonde. "Whitlock?"

The crooked smile, like melting caramel, flashed.

"Jasper Whitlock. I believe you've met my brother."

He kissed the back of my hand quickly and I yanked my hand away.

That boy was trouble. Possibly more so than his older brother, and that was saying a hell of a lot.

I turned to Rosalie. She was grinning at me.

"How do you two know each other?"

Jasper shrugged. "I was here with a girl from school when I saw your very valiant attempts at hurling gummy worms. Naturally that seemed more fun than trying to get to third base. Actually my date may still be up there, trying to get there all by herself."

He peered up into the corners of the theatre like he was looking for her.

"You ditched Samantha DeLane?" Emmett finally joined the conversation.

Rosalie's smile broadened even further.

Jasper shrugged. "She have tequila-flavored cunt juice or something? I've heard so much about this girl and yet all I've gotten from her so far is the story about how her plastic surgeon botched her first boob job and upgraded her C's to D's for the second go-round."

"That's Sam DeLane alright." Rosalie snorted and Jasper grinned at her.

"She's not nearly as stacked as you are."

Rosalie eyed him easily, not even hiding the fact that she was doing it. Then she straightened and looked at me.

'He'll do.'

I could almost hear her thinking the words.

"C'mon Jasper, we should probably go back and let these two work things out….do you like gummy worms?"

"Sweetheart, I like anything that has to do with you sucking on something long and delicious."

I choked and Rosalie laughed outright.

A lack of verbal filter seemed to be a brotherly trait.

Jasper and Rosalie returned to where Rose and I had been sitting, laughing and talking quietly.

Rosalie would have him reeled in in no time.

As for me, that outcome was still less certain.

Emmett was still glaring at me.

"Fuck the movie."

He grabbed my elbow and dragged me out of the theatre. I didn't even have time to grab my coat.

Once we were outside, standing under the lights of the marquee, he turned to me.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Fighting."

"I don't want you to fight. You nearly give me an apoplexy every time you go near anyone. First Whitlock, now Lauren. Are you trying to get yourself kicked out?"

"I'm trying to get myself back into your good graces, and your arms, and maybe even your pants you stupid, _stupid_ boy. Did you hear any of the crap I said in there? Because the majority of the school will be able to repeat it back to you verbatim on Monday."

Emmett's hands were clenched in his shirt at the sides.

"You can't just keep changing your mind Alice."

"I didn't. I said I didn't know before. Now I do."

"Just like that? How about next week, when you decide Whitlock is for you?"

"Which one?" I smirked.

Not surprisingly, Emmett didn't find that very funny.

"I don't believe you. I think this is another ploy, another stupid plan devised by Rosalie Hale for some purpose that will eventually involve me looking like an asshole again, sitting around wondering why you won't give me the time of day when you'll give guys like Cullen, guys like Jax Whitlock, everything."

"I gave them nothing! Nothing. They're easy. They aren't scary. They aren't terrifying. They are throw-away laughs and innuendos. They are flimsy excuses for girls to get out their vibrators. An occasional thought, that's all I ever gave or will give them.

You're terrifying. Everything you've ever said to me is terrifying. Do you know what the first thing you said to me on the second day I ever knew you was? That you didn't even notice I had chopped off my hair. Ten inches gone, and you went on acting like I had never run into you with one braid scalped off. Like you saw me beyond hair and the poverty line and the crap that Rosalie and I got ourselves into with that stupid plan. Everything you say means I'm naked in front of you and you're at your leisure to look."

I'm sorry I didn't make the right choice then. I wasn't ready to. I wanted things to be easy, because I'm scared. Having sex with you, and talking to you, and thinking about you is scary because I don't have any defenses. You are right up in my space and you don't apologize. You don't step back. You want to be there and you are the first person I've ever met who does. You want to be inside me in a way that has nothing and everything to do with sex. So excuse the fuck outta me if it took me a while to decide that the risk of being completely humiliated and exposed is worth the risk of being with you."

Emmett stood silently, listening to my tirade. When I was finally tired of yelling at him I clutched my cardigan tighter and waited.

He did not disappoint.

Standing there, in the late January frost, he took a step forward and wrapped both of his arms around me, burying me into his chest and body.

His lips brushed the side of my face and I looked up at him, leaning up on my tip toes.

I didn't care if I had to climb him like a monkey, I would reach up for this man and I would get what I wanted.

I wanted his arms, and his body.

I wanted his mind and his humor.

I wanted his soul, wanted just a tiny little piece to read 'Alice' for whenever I couldn't be there to see him.

I wanted him to kiss me.

And the man on the white horse never disappoints.


	22. Anything but

A/N: Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing, I think it was like a record in the last couple of weeks! It makes me so excited! And thanks for waiting and not complaining when I took a week off…I didn't get a single complaint. Y'all are amazing!

There's some plot surrounded by this lemon, just FYI! Also, you might want to get some badass (think Nickelback S.E.X) music for the closing scene to get the feeling I was trying to convey…

I know I've been bad about this but:

Disclaimer: I don't own shit. Okay, so I don't know anyone who would want to own shit, but you get it ;)

Also, thanks to vgjm who validates my shit (are we sensing a theme here?) She's wonderful and super speedy!

"_**If A is a success in life, then A equals X plus Y plus Z. Work is X; Y is play; and Z is keeping your mouth shut.**_**" **

******~Albert Einstein**

Chapter 22: Anything but…

"So let me get this straight. You want me to…"

"Pretend you're fucking me."

Whiskey-colored eyes snapped over my face, a green and yellow gummy worm disappeared between his lips.

"Not that I object to getting to be the guy who's supposedly fucking the great Rosalie Hale, but is there a reason why we can't actually _do_ the fucking?"

"Maybe I don't want to fuck you."

"Of course you want to." His grin was infectious, damn him. "And maybe you might want to answer my question too, instead of ducking it."

"I'm seeing someone."

"And he's embarrassed to be seen with you?" Again with that smile.

He was almost cute.

I hated cute.

Except that on him it was impossibly sexy. Like he'd give you that smile while he was busy eating you out and scream for whatever deity was in charge of delivering women from sexual tension.

I shuddered.

"He's none of your business."

"Au contraire. You want me to pretend I'm the lucky bastard who gets to lay under you, I want something in return."

"Of course you do."

"Easy. I can live without sex...for a while. Haven't really had time to acquaint myself with the girls here yet anyway. But I need a timetable. And preferably the address of a good adult store. If I'm not having sex, my porn stash is going to need to quadruple."

I arched a suspicious eyebrow at him.

This was the problem with dealing with an unknown quantity. It was impossible to anticipate their responses.

"You're okay with not having sex, not knowing why I'm asking you to pretend to be my boyfriend, and taking yourself off the market before you've even gotten a glimpse of how bad the girls at this school are going to misuse their Rabbits while thinking of you? Where's the catch?"

Jasper shrugged.

"There are always gonna be girls doing the bad touch over me sugar, just like I'm pretty sure your yearbook photo has been cut out and pasted onto many, many pages of Juggs over the years. If I get an itch, I can take a little jaunt to town or further and scratch til my good little Texan self is well and thoroughly scratched."

"So you're doing this because you're what? A nice guy?"

Jasper snorted at the disbelief in my tone.

"How deep does that cynical streak go? You want the truth? You probably won't believe it unless I tell you I'm in it because I'll think you'll eventually cave over the accent and the charm and fuck me till I dehydrate from lack of bodily fluids. Not it, not that you aren't probably the closest thing to a real Aphrodite anyone is likely to see, ever. Truthfully buttercup, I've heard so much shit about this place since I was in diapers that I hate it on principle. You couldn't pay me enough money to play nice with the twats that go to school here. If it wasn't for my grandfather, I wouldn't have ever seen this place firsthand, but he said I get on a plane, so I got on the fucking plane.

So I'll play your game sweets, and I'll cop a feel in public and do whatever shit you can dream up. I'll fuck you on the lab table during science class if you want. But I'll damn well stay the hell away from the same kind of reputation my brother or anyone else in my family has."

And for some reason, despite the obvious preparation of that little speech, it felt honest.

It was a long time since someone was straight with me from the get-go.

I put out a hand and he shook it firmly.

We understood each other perfectly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It's the thought, as my hand reaches down and _squeezes_ just tightly enough, that I would happily spend the rest of my life on my knees pleasing this man, that I begin to wonder if I've gone retarded with the lack of oxygen from giving him so many blowjobs.

I toy with his zipper.

Up.

Down.

Up.

Down.

Uuuppp=sike! Down.

Ten seconds into this game, Carlisle grows impatient and bats my hands away to undo his belt and zipper.

He's clumsy with both. Always has been. You would think a man who graduated from Dartmouth would be able to handle a buckle, a button, and a zip. For all of his patience in teaching, he has no patience on nights like these, nights where other students stay late after school, trying to puzzle out equations and theories and proofs for the big exam the next day. Nights when he can do nothing but watch me as I pack up my books early and promise him with my eyes that I will be back.

By six the classroom is cleared and he has me pinned against the door of his storage closet, until I reverse the pin and sink to my knees, thankful I had changed my skirt to yoga pants as I jogged around in the bitter cold, fighting the impulse to lock myself in my room and masturbate until my clit falls off.

Carlisle looks like he wants to say something, but I'm buzzing with adrenaline and sweat and I abruptly latch onto the head of his cock in a demand of attention, causing him to inhale sharply and crack his head sharply against the wall. I'm surprised he hasn't given himself a concussion yet.

"Shit." It's one of those words people would be surprised good Dr. Carlisle knew, much less used. And even those my lips are otherwise occupied, he glances down in time to see the corners quirk upwards in an unmistakable sign of a smirk. But that smirk is a mere façade because my hands have moved to his waist, holding his hips against the cabinet, just in case. I am not the one in control of these encounters. I am the vulnerable one.

Carlisle's left hand is holding onto the long, skinny handles that open the cabinet as my tongue travels along the underside of his cock before once more engulfing the round head. His other hand started in my sweat and snow-soaked hair, but has since moved to the back of my neck, massaging the curve of my skull.

His chest is heaving because he can't seem to catch his breath for more than a quick, audible exhale. I can hear his heart hammering, which urges me to take a little more of him, throat working harder as my professor watches in a truly bizarre mix of dispassionate spectator and enthralled drowning man.

My fingertips on my left hand stray, as they always do, to the crease above his hip. They unerringly find the place where his abdomen ends and his legs begin, right at the dip and crease of his hipbone. I hum as I rub that spot distractedly, as though I've found some secret place of imperfection on this god's broad body. But Carlisle is an imperfect man—even though I refuse to acknowledge this.

"Stop thinking."

I detach myself from him, hands moving to rest on his knees and give him my best "Can you put off planning the math test in your head until after I'm done eating your cock?" look.

Carlisle's normally blue eyes are dark and troubled, but he smiles for me anyway.

On their own, my hands slide up thighs heavy with muscle and tight with tension.

His breath hitches and he forces his eyelids to stay up as he watches me go back to licking him playfully. He's always watching me. From the first time I dropped to my knees, he watched.

He watches how my throat works until veins stick out, he watches my head dip and retreat, dip and retreat, he watches his hand fist into my hair. He watches beneath heavy lids, growls instead of saying anything too revealing, and waits for retribution. He revels in the potent mixture of his own guilty lust and the skill of my mouth. And he grips me tightly as the end tackles him with a force that would knock a lesser man down. His entire body thuds loudly against the cabinet door and his lids finally squeeze shut, but the imprint of my form is there, on the inside of his eyelids as he reaches an ecstasy of my making.

But instead of reveling in the ecstasy, he pulls me roughly to stand and kisses me firmly.

His eyes open again and there is still that darkness in them, the wheels visibly churning in his head with much effort.

"Come home with me tonight."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I fall onto his couch, eyes closed like they have been since he began kissing me at the front door while he fumbled with the lock.

It all smells of him.

I try to tug him down, try to pull him on top of me, a sensation I haven't been lucky enough to experience yet.

I craved it; craved his weight being just a tad too heavy, but so warm and tight and right.

He stared at me over the arm of the sofa.

His hand reached out to pull me up.

"Upstairs."

Upstairs.

Where she had been. Where he had taken her, allowed her to go. Had slept with her in his bed, in his bedroom.

Where I wasn't allowed.

I pulled back when he would have pulled me upright.

"Here." I pleaded.

"Upstairs." He said firmly and lifted me to my feet, his hands spanning my waist.

Then his mouth was on mine and his feet were moving, pushing me towards the stairs.

Towards salvation or destruction I wondered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I didn't see an inch of his bedroom.

Not a curtain, not a hamper, not a dresser, not a sheet pattern.

I was wrapped up in this man, literally.

His hands slid under my thighs as he wrapped my legs around him as we approached the bed, hoisting me onto the center.

My hips dipped into the mattress first, pressed down by his. His arm reached out to stabilize us as my back gradually found purchase on the comforter, but I refused to let him go with my legs.

His entire weight fell upon me, from shoulder to ankle, and I stole a little piece of heaven for myself, promising I would remember that sensation, that feeling for whenever he couldn't be here, intertwined with me.

"Rosalie…Rosalie you have to let go."

But his hips were telling me a different story. In the time between getting dressed, sneaking to car, and driving to his home, his erection had renewed itself and was pressed against my insistently, telling me adored the friction we were creating in deep, long waves against the mattress.

"No." I said simply and leaned up to kiss him again.

After that, words were unnecessary.

My fingers loosened his tie and worked down the column of buttons.

His hands pressed beneath the mattress to run under my shirt to trace the line of my spine.

I twisted golden strands between thumb and index as he pushed my shirt up and sucked on my tits.

He leaned back on his knees long enough to raise my leg and undo my running shoes.

I laughed and waved my sweaty socks in his face.

For the second time tonight, his belt was undone by trembling fingers.

My hands clasped his shoulders as he ran both hands down the inside of my thighs.

And one thing became startling clear as I traced the lines of his chest and stomach, kissed his shoulder, moaned when his hands palmed my ass and thrust hard against me.

I needed this.

I was finally getting what I wanted.

Foggy with lust and hormones and something else that shimmered and taunted in the distance, my thoughts were fragmented, hazy.

The only fact I could swear upon my life that were true at the moment were that his hands were all over me; tugging, pressing, molding without a sound and with a fury that rivaled a thunder storm. Or maybe that was the pounding of our chests.

His mouth was on my neck and my hands were clenched in his hair, assuring my clouded head that he would be going nowhere. Every spare inch of skin and fabric was pressed against him, desperate for contact. My every available breath had a gasp in it. My every thought centered around three words.

I needed this.

It was the mantra in my head.

I needed this.

And as his hands reached up to pull off my pants and underwear, I knew I was finally going to get what I had been waiting for.

What I needed.

I was reeling; belated panic screaming that I wasn't ready.

I wasn't ready, this thing…whatever the hell it was, it was too big, too good to be true.

Too scary.

Fingers wove themselves into my clenched fist, prying my digits loose and tucking them into a larger, warmer haven.

I opened my eyes, unaware that I had closed them.

I could see him in the darkness.

But then, I believed that I could see him if I was blind, so darkness was no issue for me.

He raised his hand, clutching mine and kissed the side of my thumb, on the fleshy part of my hand that was not in any way attractive or sexy.

He was here with me, on this ledge.

He would make sure neither of us was pushed off.

I exhaled and kept my eyes on our hands. I squeezed back.

And then all the panic was gone and he was pushing inside of me and my hips rose, a cry caught in my throat as that thing in the distance shimmered even more brightly as his head buried itself in my neck with a pained exhalation of heaven.

It lasted forever and not long enough all at once.

I was gripping, clutching at his body, at his soul, and the pinnacle of something beyond sex was there, and I then I was convulsing, crying and clenching and living in a time and place that did not exist except if you were a believer of fairy tales.

And through the swirl of chaos, through the hurricane of emotion, I felt his hand in mine, more potent than even his cock in my body, reaching and touching me places where other's had not been able to reach.

Couldn't reach.

Would never reach the way that this man reached them.

I lay sprawled on the bed, arms and legs molded in a boneless fashion against his, his body halfway to the side of mine, his legs a tangle of limbs with my own.

His breathing was harsh and his hand tilted up my head so he could kiss my jaw, murmuring words my brain could not comprehend.

I closed my eyes and felt the tears still running.

Felt my body still attempting to recover from the shock.

Memorized the feeling, already craving the next dose, the next high.

Submitted to the glaringly obvious and begrudgingly gave Alice credit for calling a spade a spade.

Ass over elbows.

If this was anything but love….

It just had to be.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

A hand hooked in the waistband of my skirt, slung casually around my hips.

A shiny belt buckle in the shape of the Texas Longhorns.

Ear buds in the ears to my left, long fingers brushing mine from time to time.

Cold winter sun creating a halo of bronze and blonde hair against the white snowscape.

An arm curled protectively around Alice, as Emmett leaned down to speak softly in her ear.

Red Converses and blue streaks.

Four pairs of brown eyes and one brilliant green.

Five pairs of legs, two shapely and uncovered in plaid skirts, moving at the same pace, moving as one unit.

Moving against the tide of oncoming students.

Shock glances off the aviators Jasper is wearing against the harsh glare of the snow as we make not individual eye contact, but instead smirk at the general population at large.

The crackle of bass comes from the IPod and we unconsciously step to the same beat.

Alice hip checks Edward playfully, turning her head out of Emmett's arms just long enough to smile teasingly and gracefully dodge Edward's smack to her ass, instead catching only the material of her skirt.

Edward reluctantly grins and I hear the general female population swoon into snow banks and the arms of their not as attractive beaus.

Jasper flicks my bottom lip with his ring finger when my smirk becomes more of a smile and I just shrug at him.

He nods, as if he understands.

I'm basking.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

I took the local bus every Tuesday and Thursday down to the Giving Heart Shelter and spent time doling out soup that was more broth than noodle or vegetable, and scrubbing tables and pots with bleach.

When I was done I waited nearly a half an hour in the cold for the bus that would drop me off at the entrance to St. Olaf's.

Today there was driving rain/ice in the air and the bus had skidded trying to stop.

The shelter was crammed and I was fifteen minutes late thanks to the bus.

I tucked my hair up into a hairnet, put on the clear plastic gloves and grabbed the ladle and potholder, releasing the scent of vegetable beef into the air.

Twenty minutes into my shift we were already running low on soup.

The person who was responsible for handing out sandwiches (cold turkey today) went to inform the cook, and his place was taken by a girl with mousy brown hair and grungy fingernails.

I stared.

She stared back at me.

An impatient cough alerted me to the back-up of people waiting for soup while it was still warm.

I ladled.

She cut sandwiches diagonally.

In our aprons, hairnets, and gloves, we stood side by side, studiously not looking at one another.

A new pot of soup was brought out; I bumped into her as I stepped aside to give the guy carrying the large pot room to set it down.

"I didn't picture you as the bleeding heart type." She murmured quietly, smiling wanly at a man in a bright orange stocking hat as she snuck two sandwiches onto his plate.

"You either."

"Looks good on college scholarship applications."

"I thought you had already signed up for the Cullen Pity Fuck Foundation."

She made no reply to this except to glance curiously over at me.

We stood in silence for another quarter of an hour before she spoke again.

"Are you and Edward…"

"Are Edward and I what?" I snapped impatiently, eyes still forward.

"Together."

"Together? Why the hell would we be together?"

"Well the last time I saw you, you were putting on a pretty good display of jealous possessiveness while kicking me out half-dressed."

"Consider it free advertising for the next boy you bend over for in hopes of screwing your way into his checkbook."

"For all you would know about it."

"I don't like vultures."

"And I don't like judgmental, spoiled girls who don't have anything better to do than stare in a mirror and stomp all over people's feelings just because they can."

My jaw dropped open. "I stomped all over your _feelings_? What feelings? You were using Edward for sex. Or do you looovee him Bella? Does your little grunge heart sing for him?"

The supervisor walked past, giving us both arched and disapproving glares. I subsided and began cleaning up my station.

Time was fucking _crawling_ by.

"Not _me_, you over-bleached Barbie. Edward. You step all over that boy until he can't tell which way is up and which way is down, and you do it because you're so shallow you can't even see that he's letting you do it."

"Edward Cullen manipulated me into a threesome, he got me drunk and then took advantage in a men's bathroom. He's more likely to be struck dead in the next thirty seconds than he is to let anyone walk all over him, so check your facts gothie. Whatever he's told you was probably a ploy to get you to do dirty dirty things without him having to beg. He played you."

"Edward and I have an understanding."

"So did Edward and I at the time."

"And what was he getting out of the deal?"

"I'm sorry, were you not _at_ the threesome?"

"Besides sex."

My eyebrows shot up. "You're making the assumption that he wanted anything more out of the bargain? You?"

The other girl who was using sex to get something she wanted.

"The only reason he ever agreed to whatever hell it was he agreed to was because you were his reward."

"Well, I am a hot bitch if I do say so myself." I smirked.

Grunge girl was unamused.

"That's exactly it. Right there. That whole, sarcastically insulting someone while ignoring what they have to say. That's why I think you're a vacant, superficial elitist snob. Did you even hear what I said?"

"You implied Edward wanted my bod, which drove you into a jealous rage, which thus equates to time wasted with you yammering in my ear like a chipmunk or other rodent."

"No you asshole. What I just told you was that Edward is in love with you and you merely chalked it up to vanity."

I dropped the soup ladle.

Our eyes met over the veggie beef steam.

She looked away first.

I stiffened and sucked my bottom lip into my mouth.

"Maybe you can find somewhere else to do community service." It was not a suggestion.

Bella studied the texture of her stain-splattered apron.

"Maybe."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Alice is already at the lunch table with Edward and Jasper, who are having a pieced together conversation on the list of irregular predicate verbs. I was ahead of Emmett in line, and I took the seat next to Jasper, who kicked it out obligingly with an easy smile.

He leaned over the table and snatched my oatmeal cookie from me.

"You so well-fucked you're giving the lunch ladies a hard-on." He whispered conspiratorially. "If I wasn't getting all the credit for that lovely glazed-over look on your face, I'd be really fucking jealous."

I smacked his hand, taking the cookie back and tearing it in half, giving him the larger side. He took it, kissed me swiftly and lightly on the lips and resided back into his seat.

I rolled my eyes and in doing so, saw stark green staring at me from the seat next to Jasper.

_Glaring_ at me.


	23. Rough and Tumble

_**"Sex always has consequences. When Hitler's mother spread her legs that night, she effectively canceled out the spreading of fifteen to twenty million other pairs of legs." **_

~George Carlin

Chapter 23: Rough and Tumble

We stumbled into Emmett's dorm room, attached at the mouth, Emmett's hands up the back of my dress, my hands working their way up the front of his standard blue button-up.

I pushed Emmett, mostly by accident, into the frame of the door. His hands tightened reflexively around my thighs and I squealed in surprise, laughing as I wriggled.

"Shhh." Emmett was laughing, but his grip didn't loosen.

Then he leaned down and tipped my head back so he could reach my lips. We stumbled into the wall and over the pile of shoes. I pulled away to catch a breath.

"Close the door!"

Emmett's foot caught the door and gave it a swift burst of momentum to close with a bang.

The dress didn't last long. With no zippers, buttons, or other type of fastening, it was merely tugged over my head and dropped on the floor next to my feet. My leggings, which had been the only thing guarding my skin from his exceptionally cold hands, created a larger struggle. At last, Emmett finally bent to his knees and allowed me to hold onto his shoulders as he pulled off one leg and then the other, taking my underwear with.

It was entirely dark in the room, even the sky outside held no moon, no illumination to give shape or shadow on my almost-nakedness. Emmett was merely a large shape looming next to me, his breath audible once I stopped laughing.

I unhooked my own bra and draped it around his neck, hearing his groan when he realized what he was holding.

And then he was palming my breasts, not even remotely enough to fill his wide palms. His fingers were still cold, but his palms radiated with heat, with a steady thump of a pulse racing faster by the minute.

Then his mouth was there, licking over my tits, scraping the sensitive skin with his teeth until I squeaked. I could feel his smile against my chest, could almost see the white teeth in the dark.

I shakily began working on the buttons, growling in frustration when I found the undershirt beneath the material.

"Were you concerned about nipping out?" I asked irritably, pulling at the hem of the shirt.

Emmett didn't get a chance to respond because the minute he released my boobs with an obscene smacking suction sound, I was trying to tug the white shirt over his head.

He laughed and helped me, until his bare chest was mine and my hands greedily spanned from his broad, defined collarbones to the narrowing of his hips bones and the top of his pants.

His mouth caught mine before I could slip them beneath the denim. He groaned low in his throat, still on his knees, and crushed me to his chest.

The heat that assailed me was a very different experience than the coldness of his fingers, which was rapidly receding. Every part of him was so hot, even in the coldness of the room.

"The bed." I whispered, thinking of the last time I had been on that bed, been tangled up in his limbs, in him.

"We're not going to make it."

"Oh no," I breathed and Emmett's arms tightened around me long enough to pick me up and throw both of us onto the couch; like a ragdoll I ended up on top of him, limbs flung out everywhere, awkwardly straddling his large body around the waist.

Emmett was lying on his back on the futon, squirming in his jeans as his hips shifted, as my bared body came in contact with the muscles of his stomach. His hands came up to my tits again and latched on with one hand. The other reached behind my head to pull me down to kiss him again.

I was wet already, rubbing myself on his stomach, unable to scoot back to find myself some much satisfying friction and still reach his mouth.

His hands were scanning my back, reaching down to cup both of my ass cheeks with his big hands and spreading and kneading them in a way I had never considered remotely arousing, but now practically sobbed at the feel of.

He was so big in every way. Physically I knew that. He towered over me countless times; I knew that he was solid bone and pliant muscle. I knew that.

But I wasn't prepared for the way he loomed over my emotions.

If he ever returned my mouth to me, I'd be begging him to get inside of me. Begging like the first time, begging because I couldn't stop my mouth from forming the words.

I ached for this. I had ached for this for a long time and hadn't even realized it.

He wasn't even touching me there yet and I could feel my muscles contracting, pulling, and begging him to put me out of my misery.

He could feel it too and his breath hitched in my mouth. He ripped himself away from my mouth and let go of my ass long enough for me to hear him fumbling with his zipper and button.

I fell onto him nearly face-first when his hips lifted enough to shove his pants down his thighs.

"Sit on it." Emmett hissed, and the muscles in his body tensed further when I didn't comply fast enough, and his hands lifted my hips and held me right over his erection.

I tensed.

He was already applying firm pressure against my entrance; he felt much, much thicker than I remembered, much too heavy against me and he wasn't even in me yet.

"Please…too much…" I gasped, drawing my legs instinctively further apart and upward as far they could go with the lack of space.

"Mm…" Emmett hissed from between his teeth, clearly trying to find a thread of control. My fingers were already digging into his chest; beneath them I could feel his heart. His hands still on my hips, he lowered me gently and shifted his hips up.

Contact turned into a deep burn as the swollen head stretched me and eventually slid inside. I writhed against the burn and tried to breathe.

"I can't…it's too much."

"You can take it baby." Emmett was still pressing forward, grip on my hips tightening as I wriggled and strained. "You'll take it for me. Let me inside you Alice."

He increased the pressure and I felt my body ease as he passed the constriction and paused for a moment before pulling me down further onto his cock.

"Damn…" He grunted. "So fucking tight."

And with a deep flex of his hips that lifted both of us off the futon, he buried himself inside of me.

I cried out, arching hard at the unexpected movement, but he settled me at once back upon his body.

I could feel the root of him against my clit, could feel him so deep inside it felt like he was going to tear me into two, could feel him pulsing within me, though Emmett wasn't moving.

I couldn't see his eyes, and assumed they were closed. In the dark his expression wasn't visible and I reached a hand up to his face.

His jaw was clenched, his lips were an almost invisible line, and he was breathing through his nose. His eyes were indeed shut, and the cords of his neck were almost snappable they were pulled so tight.

He was in pain too, pain from denying himself every baser instinct his body had.

The instinct to move.

The instinct to take.

The instinct to lose himself in the quest for satisfaction.

Carefully I exhaled around him, feeling him shift ever so slightly inside of me. I leaned forward to place a kiss on the middle of his chest and I shook with the feel of my body sliding around, over, on his.

"You're killing me Alice." Emmett choked out. "Move your ass."

But his hands were already there, raising me up and then pulling me hard back down onto him.

I was so full of him, every new thrust, every inch deeper he went, I lost of little bit of myself and repaired the missing pieces with him.

"Baby…fuck. Baby…" Emmett was pleading with me as he worked me over his cock, and his eyes were open now, I could see them fixed on me.

Asking me for something.

I had been silent. The entire time. While he groaned and shuddered beneath me, I had been absorbed in my own head, in the feel of him burying me on his cock.

"So big…god. Like you're going to break me apart Em…Emmett." In a good way. He had to know I meant it in a good way.

"Tell me."

His thumb pressed firmly against my clit. I jerked as he rubbed hard.

"Can't." I exhaled shakily.

And I couldn't. How could anyone describe the epic amount of sensation that equated to the word 'sex' accurately? How could anyone be rational at a time like this?

"You can take it. Take my cock, take all of it. You'll never be able to fuck anyone else without wishing it was my cock, without wanting to feel like the guy is pulling you apart from the inside. Tell me you like it Alice. I need…you have to like it."

It was a plea disguised as growl, as a command.

My head and neck were jerking with the intensity and the deep, probing force of each thrust. My lower lip was between my teeth as he reached deeper still.

"Tell me…please baby." He begged, not stopping, not slowly, as lost to this chaotic quest as I was, bouncing on top of him, scoring his chest with my fingers.

I couldn't get out the words.

There simply weren't any.

It seemed the only thing there was to do was let go.

So I did.

I cried out and froze on top of him, suddenly he was too big, too large inside of me as my muscles pulled and pushed at him. I tried to wrench myself off of him, tried to wriggle away from the sharp, blinding sensation of pleasure so potent it was painful, but he had thrust himself firmly inside with a string of shocked curses, and was refusing to dislodge himself as my entire body bowed and gave, bowed and gave.

Dimly I collapsed on his chest and felt him still surging into me at a frantic pace, causing delayed shivers and shudders in me, until at least I heard his breathing get harder and with a deep thrust and a pained growl I felt him shoot into me in several long strands, his hips still raggedly pushing, pushing, until at last he was still beneath me.

He slipped out of me and I felt a wetness seep out of my well-used body and onto his. I grimaced and buried my face in his abdomen, unsure that I would even be able to walk upright to find the bathroom.

Emmett's hand on my lower spine immediately disabused me of that notion. He was already breathing deeply, already giving into sleep.

I followed him down willingly.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

There was a creak of hinges and then a dual exclamation of shock and swear words.

I muttered my own special set of expletives as my hair was pulled and I was wakened far too early on a weekend.

"What the….oh fuck!"

I groaned and tried to move the solid weight that was on my chest. It didn't budge.

And whose voice was that? It was too tenor-like to be Emmett's…

Oh fuck.

Sometime during the night Emmett had rolled so that we were on our sides, with me squashed between the back of the futon and his body.

"Get out Mike!" Emmett shouted, pulling me tighter to him, to block the rather good view of leg and ass that Emmett's roommate had probably gotten a glimpse when he opened the door.

The door slammed shut abruptly and I pushed at Emmett's chest, wincing at the stickiness all over me.

Gross.

We both stared at the door and then I could feel Emmett's chest shaking ever so slightly.

"It's not funny!"

The only response Emmett made was to raise his hand to cover his mouth as he stifled his great, booming laughter.

"Emmett!"

I was scooped into his lap as he cradled me between his legs and just kept laughing.

"It's. Not. Funny."

Not that this deterred him.

"I know!" He finally gasped out.

"Mike Newton saw me naked!"

A new wave of laughter swept through him and tears started rolling down his cheeks. I rolled my eyes at him and hopped off to find some goddamn clothes.

But I noticed, as I pulled on my leggings with one of Emmett's school shirts, that my lips kept twitching up as well.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the following weeks I refused to have sex in Emmett's room. Simply said 'hell no' and avoided Mike Newton like he had the clap.

Not that this deterred either of us. My room was the most frequented option, as Rosalie spent nearly every night at the pervfessor's now and the intervening hours giving Emmett and I some much-needed alone time.

And when we couldn't make it back to Whitlock, Emmett and I became quite creative.

The private art studios where we were supposed to be working on sculptures was a wonderful alternative if I didn't mind getting my skirt (or ass for that matter) full of the dust and remains of sculptures failed.

The boy's locker room after Emmett got done working out or boxing only worked very, very early in the morning or very late at night. And as I had detention every morning, it didn't get used very often.

And speaking of detention, I was starting to get annoyed with having to leave Emmett's arms every morning.

I bought a box of black hair dye the last time Emmett and I caught a ride into town and it was sitting on my desk as I contemplated giving up the blue streaks.

This particular Thursday morning detention in late February was more than reason enough to concede defeat to Dean Regan.

I sat in my usual seat in the library and half-heartedly went to work on filling out the outline for a comp paper.

I caught sight of short blonde-brown hair and thin, quirky lips.

Jax Whitlock changed course from the table he had presumably been heading for, and sat down in the chair across from mine.

"Long time no see, angel-face."

"Hard to see when your eye was swollen shut."

Shoulders shrugging. Still no eye contact.

"I'll get McCarty back. Boxing started last week."

"You aren't in the same weight class."

More shrugging. "I'll get my hits in, sweetheart, don't worry about little ol' me."

The southern twang got stronger with his sarcasm, just like his brother.

I studiously avoided his openly amused gaze for the remainder of detention.

The warning bell rang, dismissing us all in a flurry of activity from a group of students that twenty seconds ago had been mostly unconscious.

I briskly walked towards class, unaware that I was being followed.

A hand curled around my elbow and turned me to face him.

"How many of them are you fucking angel-face? Wasn't Cullen and McCarty enough? You had to drag my brother into this?

I cringed. I had a feeling Jax wouldn't stay quiet on that matter for very long.

"Your brother was 'dragged' quite willingly." I snapped, pulling at his grip on my arm. He was incredibly warm, even while we were standing out in the late January frost.

"I'm sure he was." Jax smiled at me, tilting my head to the side. "Those doe eyes of yours do things to a man's cock."

"Would you like me to shove some snow down there? That should take care of your problem, possibly permanently."

He chuckled, but his grip on my arm tightened.

"You're a lot feistier now that you've got friends in high places Alice. I like it. Power clearly suits you. But you know what would suit you even more?"

"A lobotomy?" I suggested dryly. His grin widened.

"Being _broken_."

And then he swooped down to kiss me square on mouth, and smirked one last time at me before walking away.

I blinked.

What the hell?

And then my eyes fell upon the person I usually met up with to walk to first period together.

Jasper Whitlock stared at me in a mirror-image of what I imagined I looked like. Open mouth, wide eyes, and shocked face.

We stood fifteen feet apart in the muck of melting snow and slush, and stared at one another.

~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*

We sat in the back of first period.

I was numb in shock.

Jasper was poker-faced, as per usual.

Halfway through class he finally turned to me.

"I'm assuming there was no tongue."

It took me all a second to hear the teasing tone of his voice and to kick his booted foot across the aisle.

He smiled, so much like his brother, and shook his head, causing the messy strands to sway gently. Several females in the class were sneaking looks at him.

Jasper Whitlock had caused quite the commotion with his arrival at Olaf's, with his longer than "in" hair, his supersized belt buckles which inevitably drew the attention of the female population _south_, and the Texan twang that filtered through every facetiously spoken sentence, which accounted for nearly ninety percent of the things that came out of that mouth, possibly more.

"Seriously. Who the hell goes around kissing people who have boyfriends? Boyfriends who box and look like they're He-Man? What. The. Fuck."

"Apparently my brother just can't keep his hands or his thoughts to himself when it comes to you." Jasper shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal that his brother thought it was perfectly fine to be kissing me anytime he wants.

"Well, can you blame him?" I drawled mockingly, flipping my too-short to be flipped hair over one shoulder.

Jasper raised an eyebrow and let an eye run over my body and then back up. He shrugged and stretched his arms over his head, bending back against the chair.

"Not really my type sweet pea."

I sat upright.

"What is _with_ all the nicknames? Is Alice really that bad?"

"Yes." He held the 's.'

"Shut up."

"Witty comeback, no wonder my brother is smitten."

"Seriously, what's wrong with me?" Okay, so I was short and currently built not too differently from a twelve-year boy before his growth spurt, but I didn't think there wasn't anything too hideous about me.

"Wrong with you? Nothing. But you can't be my type because you're my brother's type. It's like a fucking Greek tragedy. Not to mention, I don't particularly care to be racked in the scrotum by a pint-sized fist if I ever cross you on a bad day."

The patented smile took any bite out of the words, but it still prickled that he could say something so potentially damagin so easily, a bit like Emmett's stubble in the mornings.

Honesty was a double-bladed weapon. Jasper used each side of the blade equally as far I could tell. One side to tell the unmitigated truth, no matter how mean or potentially disastrous, and the other side for winning the respect of people who needed to hear the truth, dripping in charm and twang as it could come only from him. It was an unusual skill.

But perhaps that's the kind of guy Jasper Whitlock was. I had a hard time believing anyone could be that entirely honest, that entirely straight forward, but maybe I had simply been sequestered in the bullshit-heavy environment of St. Olaf's for too long.

"Should I tell Emmett?"

"Only if you want my mom to press charges to pay for the plastic surgeon Jackson would need."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rosalie and Jasper usually went with Emmett and I on Friday nights to whatever scene was happening that night. Whether that was a movie, a party in the dorms, or a big basketball game, we went. Jasper and Rose would share a drink, a carton of McDonald's fries, a passenger seat, anything that gave very physical evidence of their entirely fake relationship.

Rosalie disappeared on Saturday and usually reappeared on Sundays, looking tired but glowing with a happiness that made her resemble Glinda the Good Witch more than the Rosalie Hale I remembered from last semester. Occasionally she would return in a sweatshirt or a pair of sweats that clearly weren't hers and I would bit my lip and keep my mouth shut.

She was so happy.

And excelling in all of her subjects. Even at parties we went to, when people clearly were disappearing to shoot up, Rosalie was content and smiling.

Smiling.

Like she couldn't stop if she wanted.

Like she didn't want to stop.

Even Emmett said Rosalie wasn't quite as poisonous as he previously remembered her being.

"He's a college guy, isn't he?" He had asked me one night, while we were curled up in my room, working through our homework.

"Who?"

"Whoever Rosalie's seeing on the weekends. Whoever Jasper's bearding for. Unless it's a chick…is it a chick?"

"Not a chick." I told him with a smile.

"So it's a college guy, and Satan's whore doesn't want anyone to know because she probably told the guy she was eighteen."

I shrugged and changed the subject.

I kept my mouth shut and let her be happy.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It was the last weekend in February when I got back to my dorm (which was empty, per usual these days) and noticed I had a voicemail.

"_Hi! You've reached Mary Alice's voicemail. Leave a message!"_

"Hello Mary Alice's voicemail, this is Esme Sonia and I'm just checking in to tell you I'll be in town in a couple of weeks for my dad's birthday. Leave room for a huge dinner at Miceli's in town, it's tradition. Rosalie is invited too, of course, but she knows that already. And I have a feeling my darling recluse of a brother has been avoiding my phone calls, so will you check in on him and let me know how he is? Can't wait to see you!"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Edward.

Oh Edward.

Edward posed something of problem.

For one, he wasn't speaking to Rose at present. Thankfully, Rosalie seemed to be avoiding him for whatever reason as well, but she couldn't possibly be ignorant of the furious glares he often aimed at her.

To be honest, I had been so wrapped up in Emmett, Rosalie and Jasper, and Jax, that Edward had fallen off my radar.

I still saw him every day, as we had class together this semester, but he was very careful to avoid any mention of Rosalie or Emmett and myself, or anything that wasn't completely mundane.

I was being a bad friend, and Esme, Esme who had been in Japan for the past month, had noticed.

I hopped from foot to foot on the cold wood floors as I kicked off my Mary Janes and contemplated the possible World War III that could take place if Edward and Rosalie were forced to be civil to one another in a intimate little Italian restaurant with not only Edward's beloved older sister, but his parents in attendance as well.

I ran a finger over the smooth silver keys of the phone.

Realistically, I knew that I wasn't responsible for the actions of Edward and Rosalie. I knew that it wasn't my fault they were currently locked in some battle of pig-headedness.

That didn't stop me from wanting to fix this for them both.

Or at least keep the peace, so Edward wouldn't get his heart broken by Rosalie's tendency towards obliviousness and self-involvment.

So Rosalie wouldn't feel guilty over never noticing that Edward was in love with her.

_Imagined himself in love with her_…those had been Esme's words. But did it matter if was actually in love or not? He thought he was; it would still feel like hell if he found out why Rose was so oblivious.

And Rosalie shouldn't have to feel guilty. It's not as if Edward ever stepped up and was honest with her. In fact, he had done the opposite, in an attempt to shield himself. He had been deliberately cool towards her, deliberately humiliated her, all in some boy-language code that apparently equated to Edward trying to get past the wall that was Rosalie Hale's reputation and ego.

My head hurt just thinking about it.

Not that I could judge.

I had to have sex (repeatedly) with a guy who was in love with someone else, punch a dude in the nuts, and throw gummy worms before I realized I was acting out because I was hurt that Emmett hadn't wanted me when I needed him.

Gah.

Teenager are so damn stupid.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Mr. Cullen's (Edward Senior) birthday was on Thursday, March 6th. On Friday the 8th Esme picked us up in her tiny Hybrid car. She got out to hug Edward, chastise him for not answering his phone, and then swept over to me and engulfed me, wearing her outfit from the photo shoot I had assisted her with, just as I was.

Rosalie also received a hug, smiling widely as Esme exclaimed that Rosalie was even prettier than the last time she had seen her.

Rosalie was told she was beautiful on nearly a weekly basis, but the way she blushed when Esme said it, I could tell Rosalie looked up to Esme in a similar fashion as I did.

Rosalie and I climbed in the backseat, Edward attempted to slide into the front, but Esme stopped him.

"We have to pick up Connor on the way; his car is in the shop."

Rosalie froze as she was getting into the car.

I nudged her.

Rosalie turned wide eyes on me.

Oh come on.

So Edward, Rosalie, and I had to squeeze into the back seat, big freaking deal.

"Grow up." I hissed.

Rosalie stared blankly at me.

"Edward, you'll have to sit in the middle. Rosalie and Alice are both wearing dresses." Esme said as she slid into the driver's seat and fussed over the radio stations.

Edward stiffly did as he was told. I slid in last, with hardly any room left as Rosalie had inched as close to the door as possible, still looking like a zombie, and likewise Edward had left as much space as he could between them.

I inhaled and held onto my patience. I jabbed Edward in the ribs while trying to shut the door and he reluctantly scooted over.

I laced my fingers with his and he looked at me in surprise.

I simply shrugged at him and didn't let go.

Esme drove like a maniace, even in the pre-spring slush, through a neighborhood that may as well been tattooed with the word "surburbia" all over it. She pulled into the drive of a bricked and white-sided two-story and honked her cheery little horn twice.

Even her car was cheerful.

Though the atmosphere inside was anything but.

Esme and I had kept the conversation going, while Rosalie looked sick and Edward stayed stoically quiet, even though every hard turn sent all three of us sliding against one another.

As always, he suffered through this trial in silence.

I didn't look up until the blast of icy air from the door opening.

All the air rushed out of my lungs, most likely because my mouth dropped at the sight of the blonde god in a scarf and peacoat sliding into the car.

Oh Jesus Christ on a piece of toast.

"Connor!" Esme said happily, embracing him as best she could with her seatbelt still on.

Connor?

Wait….

"_But I usually stop out at Olaf's a couple of times a semester to see a…__**friend**__ from college, if you catch my meaning? Course you do, you're a smart girl. But anyway, he seems to have found a new…friend, so I'll just to settle for visiting you and tormenting my baby brother."_

Noooooooooooooo.

No.

No.

No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No.

Just **no**.

"Esme." Dr. Carlisle said with a half grimace, half smile. He turned in his seat to wince/smile at us. "Edward, Alice…Rosalie."

"Dr. Carlisle." Edward said with a nod. I smiled tightly, unaware that he knew who I was.

Rosalie remained silent for the rest of the ride.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Edward's father was a jovially fellow, with an air of importance built around his every move. From the way he swirled his glass of wine, from the flick of the menu as he handed it back to the waiter and ordered for the entire table, he told the world he was special.

Important.

Better than the rest.

Edward did it with less flair and flash, but it was still a trait he and his father clearly shared.

Edward's stepmother could talk about nothing for hours. Everything she said was so polite and mundane that you almost forgot you spoke to her. Though that inanity would have been extremely welcome at the moment, as I was sitting next to Rosalie and Esme; Edward on the other side of Rose and _Connor_ next to Esme.

Esme, who was happily unaware that Rosalie was in love with her occasional lover from back in her college days.

And Rosalie whose hands were tucked impolitely under the table, shaking.

Above the table she was putting on a good show, ignoring her teacher, just as one would expect she would, and talking across the table to Mrs. Cullen, who was on Carlisle's other side.

Edward and his father were side by side and the elder Edward seemed to be trying to draw Edward into a debate about some aspect of the family business that my Edward clearly wasn't paying attention to.

His attention was fixed on Rosalie.

Like he could see her hand beneath the table too. Like he knew something was horribly, horribly wrong.

And suddenly I was desperately wanting to text Emmett and let him break up the tension in that wonderful, boisterous way of his, with good humor and lively stories.

We didn't make it through the salad before our house of cards tumbled.

"Connor, when are you finishing your dissertation? I just saw Dr. Santiago's wife a couple of weeks ago and he said they were all waiting until you were ready to be a professor at Dartmouth."

Carlisle cleared his throat carefully, avoiding looking anywhere but across the round table to Mrs. Cullen.

"I expect this summer. I plan on spending the summer somewhere where I can simply set aside everything else and finish the damn thing. I've put it off long enough."

That comment caught Mr. Cullen's attention.

"Don't know about that, Carlisle. If it weren't for you, I never would have managed to coral Esme into graduate school."

Esme rolled her eyes. "Much good that degree is doing me."

Edward Senior waved her comment away. "Seriously Connor, is professorship what you want? I know the hours are quite exceptional, but surely you know how much more you could be making? My human resources people scout people like you all over the world because they are so rare. You could be climbing the corporate ladder, especially at my firm. And then perhaps I'd have a prayer of bringing Esme back into her rightful place in the world."

Carlisle actually flushed.

I stared.

Rosalie gripped my hand so tight I thought she might dislocate a finger.

Esme rolled her eyes. "Dad."

"I'm sorry to say sir, I do love teaching."

"And we hear you're very gifted at it." Mrs Cullen said smoothly, wrinkling out any tension between the males. "Mrs. Hale has just raved about Rosalie's turnaround this year." She smiled broadly at Rosalie, clearly meaning it to be a compliment to the quietest of her dinner guests, but Rosalie just smiled weakly and looked down at her salad.

"Rosalie is quite gifted. I have no doubt schools all over country will be recruiting her for their math programs."

I jerked my head sharply to look at the professor.

He was looking at Rosalie kindly, but his eyes were pained.

He was trying to comfort her.

Trying to relieve some pain, no matter how weak the attempt.

And in those eyes was an echo of the stricken look I had seen in him when he had seen Rosalie in the Dean's hallway before Thanksgiving break last semester.

Pain for Rosalie's pain.

Concern for Rosalie's feelings.

Awareness of her suffering.

Love.

He loved her.

And it was there for the world to see, if they only knew where to look.

Esme's salad fork clattered to the ground.

I tore my gaze away from Dr. Carlisle and turned towards the unladylike noise.

Esme was bending down to get the dropped utensil, but I got a clear view of her face, as she had dropped the fork on my side of her seat.

Shock was plainly visible on her flushed face.

Shock and knowing.

She knew.

She knew about Rosalie and Carlisle.

Her eyes met mine.

Our shock mirrored each other's.

She pulled herself upright with a small cough and politely asked the server to bring her another, though she never did touch the salad again.

Those were the last words Esme spoke for the rest of the meal.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Mother, will you take the kids home? Connor and I have some catching up to do."

There was subtle emphasis on the word 'kids'.

Carlisle visibly fidgeted.

Rosalie looked even sicker, if that was possible.

Edward looked even more worried.

We were driven back in the Cullen's Mercedes, and dropped off in front of Whitlock with pleasantries and farewells.

Rosalie didn't even wait until the car was out of sight before she ran inside the building.

Edward made a motion to go after her, but I placed myself in front of him.

"Get out of the way Alice."

"No."

"Something's wrong. God damn it! Why won't tell me what's wrong!"

"She would tell you if she wanted you to know."

"No she wouldn't." Edward's eyes narrowed on me. "What are you hiding? Why are you protecting her? If she needs help…"

His eyes were dark and stricken in the weak moon. I could feel emotions falling off of him in waves.

I swallowed and silently asked for forgiveness.

"She's a big girl Edward. And if she really wanted you, needed _you_, she would have you by now, wouldn't she? You would know what was wrong. But you don't. She's doesn't want your help…she doesn't want your help."

She doesn't want you.

Edward got the message loud and clear.

He straightened abruptly, his face going blank.

"Well." He began, his voice strangely lacking all infliction. His beautiful voice, which held so many secrets, was now as blank as his face. "I'm glad Rosalie has you to be her little messenger and do all her dirty work for you. Good night Alice."

He stalked away, spine straight, fists clenched at his side.

_**End notes: Teaser goes up on the Twilighted board on Wednesday…link is in my profile. Thanks to Jaina, Miztrezboo Ruby, and MissLoonyLovegood for being full of awesomeness on the boards this week, gave me TONS of pictoral (not a word?) motivation for this chapter.**_


	24. Save your Goodbye Kiss

_A/N: A good question came up: how can I get the teaser if I don't want to be on the Twilighted boards? Well, I'm not up for emailing everyone the teaser, and most of my teasers (maybe all) are less than a 100 words, so I can't post them as a chapter to be replaced by the real thing later, but if someone has an idea I'd be more than happy to oblige._

_Music selections, if you are interested. "Bliss" by Hinder after the first scene, and for the final scene, may I recommend Sia's "Breathe Me." I listened to it on repeat while I rewrote that scene four times. _

_A reminder that this is a non-canon story. Please stop asking when Bella's going to appear and ride Edward off into the sunset from all the wicked, crazy people in this story ;)_

_Also, where's the rest of this chapter, you ask? Why it's in the outtakes sub-story, entitled "Indiana Jones and other outtakes from The Elite." All the outtakes can be found there as I post them. And as special treat, for reading 500+ reviews on and 300+ reviews at Twilighted, this week there will be a special Jasper/Alice one-shot posted (on only), so check in on Wednesday for that._

_Thanks for reading today. Six chapters to go._

_**Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell. **_

_**~Edna St. Vincent Millay**_

Chapter 24: Save your Goodbye Kiss

Do you know those beauty pageants they televise?

The ones where, when the winners are announced, the queen of them all presses both hands to her face and attempts not to have a seizure or crying jag on stage?

Perfect teeth, almost popping out of their heavily-lined red lips, fake eyelashes batting furiously, as they shake and sob and mouth words that can't be heard over the orchestra and the faux congratulations of the other contestants.

When I was lying, curled up in a miserable, sweaty ball out in the pool house, sick to my stomach and shaking and mouthing pleas for help, I thought about those beauty queens.

Fakes, every last one of them.

Product generated to give an "ideal", a way women should look and act.

I used to watch those pageants every year; had even entered a few when I was younger.

I never won if you can believe it.

My mother always said it was the interview portion that did me in.

I wasn't feminine, wasn't gracious.

She may have been onto something.

I was the runner-up once, and instead of hugging the little girl who won and thanking the judges like I had been taught by my pageant coach, I burst into angry wails and everyone could hear my cries of "it's not fair!" all the way across the auditorium.

I stomped off stage and proceeded to tear and yank at my dress and stupid shoes and stupid hair, causing the caked-on make-up to begin to melt and drip off my face and onto my pink party dress.

How many beauty queens had actually wanted to flip the bird to the other contenders or pump their fist or let out a "fuck yes, bitch?"

How many runner-ups and losers wanted to stomp around and yell obscenities until the stabbing pain of being rejected faded to a livable sting?

I was so goddamn sick of being a beauty queen, of having the correct response to everything awful, horrible, very bad thing that happened to me.

As my mother had already pointed out, nearly a decade prior, graciousness was not one of the virtues I had been blessed with.

So as I sat in a hell of my own making, pushing my food around my plate and trying not to throw up every time I looked up at him, playing the same role I was playing.

Once his eyes caught mine and I convulsively swallowed, immediately looking away.

Esme Cullen.

Of all of the people on the planet that he had slept with in the past, did Esme Cullen have to be one of them?

It's not fair.

It's not fair.

It's…probably what I deserve.

Because I certainly must have been fooling myself to think that Carlisle wouldn't have fantastic women falling at his feet, that I would be first to see how amazing he was.

Poor, naïve, moronic Rosalie Hale, who thought she was the only one in love with someone who was literally too good to be true.

Literally.

It was all a lie.

And it was falling down around our heads as Alice sat with near statue-like stillness, her eyes bouncing back and forth between the two of us like a silent tennis match playing out.

Edward, though unaware of what exactly was wrong, had clearly tuned into something being amiss and was glaring at me with even more venom than over the past couple of weeks.

And finally Esme, silverware going flying as she put the pieces together and as she reappeared above the table, her eyes darted over to mine for the briefest of moments before returning and staying on her plate for the rest of the night.

She didn't even respond when her mother asked how her food was, or when Carlisle jostled her elbow accidentally on purpose during dessert.

A large fist was squeezing my lungs, I felt light-headed when Esme made the 'request' for us to be taken back by Mr. and Mrs. Cullen.

Carlisle brushed by me and gripped my hand tightly as he walked towards Esme's small car.

Esme's face was carefully composed as she bid her parents, brother, and Alice good-night smiling slightly. She didn't address me or look once at me.

And I played my part, smiling and wishing Mr. Cullen many happy returns, gracefully accepting Edward's reluctant hand to slide out of the town car.

I broke just as the drive began to pull away; feeling my composure slide, I turned and ran into Whitlock.

Could feel the child surging to the surface.

It's not fair.

It's not fair.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I hopped in a cab less than twenty minutes after the Cullen's had dropped us off.

Alice had been quickly and carelessly disposed of with a few acidic words and a very timely appearance by McCarty.

She had been furious and shocked and scared.

Emotions I had already sped through during that tortuous dinner, and was now rounding back through them all again at quicker and quicker intervals.

I couldn't deal with anyone else's emotions or reactions or fucking moral principles right now. And I had seen Alice's face; seen the flickering uncertainty, the questions. Seen a sharp mind put together enough pieces to damn everyone in this sticky situation.

Could see in her mind that she had added 'home wrecker' my long list of character flaws.

Not that I could answer any of her questions anyway; I couldn't even refute the claim of 'home wrecker' truthfully.

Had they been close to marriage at one time?

What had separated him from a girl like Esme Cullen?

His teaching job?

Her career?

His love for blondes in short, plaid skirts?

Was Esme in love with Carlisle?

Was _Carlisle_ in love with Esme?

Was I a naïve, foolish girl who was being toyed with by a gorgeous, deceitful son of a bitch?

Funny how the only answer I had was to that last question.

Yes.

I walked up the pathway to his house, aware that the front door was already opening, Carlisle standing there, waiting on me. Under his arm I could see Esme sitting on the sofa, looking blankly furious and sizing up Carlisle and I up with one poison-laced glance.

Carlisle didn't touch me, didn't speak, and hardly looked at me as I entered his house.

I heard the door shut behind me, could smell his cologne, mixed in with sweat. I could see the furrows lining his beautiful face and I could feel the tenseness in his shoulders.

Could almost taste the guilt.

"Where's your coat Rosalie?"

I shrugged. I had completely forgotten it, hadn't even thought about the cold.

Carlisle's fingers lightly curled around my arm and rubbed gently, motioning for me to sit wherever I was comfortable.

I chose the leather couch opposite from the loveseat Esme was on.

Not once did her eyes leave me.

Carlisle stayed standing. He couldn't sit with either of us without giving away what side he was on.

To one side was his presumed college sweetheart and sometimes girlfriend, the assured, competent free-spirit who had a knack for business and success.

To the other was his student and shameful, illegal affair. I was an even decade younger, with a history of screwing everything up on purpose and a heroin addiction.

It all felt pretty one-sided to me.

"You were the girl at the door, the night I was here. I caught sight of your hair as you were running out of the house."

The words were flat, lacking any sort of emotion except for slight disbelief.

I nodded and clenched my fingers against the smooth charcoal material of the high-waisted pencil skirt I had worn to dinner.

Carlisle was quiet, but his eyes weren't on either of us.

"And I suppose Connor often receives visits from his very young students in the middle of the night?"

The question was directed at me, but the animosity and the hard edge of sarcasm was not. Her eyes flickered to her ex.

"Esme." Carlisle sighed. "That was uncalled for."

"Was it? I merely wanted to know if Rosalie was special, or if she was just one of the many attractive students who think nothing of visiting you at two in the morning."

Again, all that ire seemed to be directed at Carlisle, and not at me.

"I'm sorry. I didn't…I didn't know." I choked out, not really sure what to say.

Esme's sherry-colored eyes turned pitiful when they looked at me.

"Don't you dare apologize Rosalie Hale. This isn't your fault."

It wasn't?

Carlisle rolled his eyes, the first time I had ever seen him do so.

"Rosalie is perfectly capable—"

"Rosalie is sixteen! What the hell would you expect of her except to fall in love with her older, wiser, and doubtlessly charming professor?"

I cringed at the use of the word 'love.' I wasn't quite that obvious was I?

Carlisle had cringed too, more so from Esme's raised voice than the words.

"How could you? Have you lost every bit of sense in that brilliant head of yours Connor? Sleeping with a student? You could go to _jail_. Jail. It's illegal. You're throwing away a doctorate from Dartmouth and a guaranteed teaching and researching position amongst the world's most brilliant minds for a few blowjobs from a co-ed? How could you?"

Now Esme was up, disappearing into the kitchen to get rid of her glass, which was still full, and returning, flushed and furious.

"It's my fault. I didn't mean for this to happen, he didn't mean for this to happen until I pushed him. I just…I needed him. I needed him and I needed someone to take care of me. And I tried not to—you have to know I tried not to. I wanted him to be just another person who saw the blonde hair and the big boobs and the money…it would have been easier if he was one of Them. But he's not. He's just…not."

I said softly to Esme, the woman I had once looked up to when I was a girl and spent some of my summer vacation pretending to play with a moody, sullen Edward, when really I was following Esme around and mimicking her actions, her gestures, her tone.

Esme was beautiful without being a trophy, successful without being a shark, and happy without being smug about it.

And now she was looking at me like she pitied me, like I was foolish and stupid and nothing.

I hated being looked at like that.

"I'd drop out before I'd tell. This…it's none of your business. You shouldn't even be here. This is between Carlisle and me."

"Oh my god." Esme muttered, finally turning towards me. "Do you hear yourself? You're willing to stand up for….this? For the honor of getting to screw around with him? Why Rosalie? What are you getting out of this? He can't hold your hand in public, he can't take you out to celebrate a birthday or anniversary or even an A on a test. You can't talk to him unless you're alone. That's not a relationship. That's an asshole who is too immature to find someone his own age because he doesn't want to get hassled with the realities of a relationship. He's using you. Don't defend that."

Carlisle cringed again and took a step toward me. Esme huffed and then let out something that sounded like a snort, falling back down into the loveseat.

"Both of you please stop."

Esme huffed again and I refused to look at him, my cheeks burning.

I felt the couch shift and felt him sitting next to me.

"Esme, I don't think this involves you anymore."

Esme shot to her feet.

"The hell it doesn't. What do you expect me to do? Pretend this never happened? _Not_ call the police so they can cart your lecherous, immoral ass off in handcuffs?"

My fists clenched at the last, and Carlisle squeezed my hand back. But he couldn't stop me from saying what had been caught in my throat since Esme had uttered his name so casually earlier tonight, said his name out loud because she was allowed to, because it wasn't against the rules to talk about the man between us if he wasn't your professor.

Esme's mouth tightened and she stood up, looking anywhere but at the two of us, sitting next to one another on his couch.

"Connor?"

I felt him take a large breath next to me, and he finally spoke into the suffocating tension of the room.

"I'm here for as long as she wants me Esme."

Esme was staring at the curtains, studying them with intense concentration.

"For what it's worth Rosalie, I always thought you were better than this. Is this what you want? Think about yourself. Whatever it is that you want out of life, is this how you want to get it? By sneaking around? By following a man around like a puppy? Don't you have any goals for yourself? Or are you contenting yourself with someone who does have goals, with someone who has a path you can follow him down so you don't ever have to worry about what you're actually capable of doing, without the benefit of a rich father or boyfriend or a low-cut shirt? Is that all you are? Because if it is, I should probably thank Connor, because you clearly don't deserve to be with someone who has those ambitions, someone like my brother."

Esme grabbed her coat from off the back of the loveseat.

The door slammed behind her with a smack of finality.

Carlisle sighed and slouched back into the couch.

"She was out of line."

He tugged me closer to him, and brushed back some of my hair.

"But she has a point."

Wait, what the hell was coming out of my mouth?

Carlisle's mouth twitched. "She usually does."

Then he kissed me; soft, lingering, and all those cliché words that people use for chaste, loving kisses that don't lead to sex.

I changed the kiss, couldn't deal with chaste, couldn't handle loving kisses from a man I wasn't allowed to be in love with.

Maybe in five years, more likely in ten.

Then maybe it would be okay for me to be in love with him.

But when I was sixteen and he was twenty-six?

How could that ever be okay?

I pulled him over me, lifted one knee over his hip and pushed the thoughts away.

_He can't hold your hand in public._

"Rose, sweetheart, you don't want this right now." Carlisle whispered against my cheek.

I ignored him.

His tie was pulled off and floated to the floor. He helped me get his jacket off, groaning as his hands ran up my legs, pushing the thick material with little success. The skirt was so form-fitting it wouldn't fit all the way to my waist.

I pulled him to my lips again.

_Whatever it is that you want out of life, is this how you want to get it? _

My hands ran through his hair, keeping him there, for me to taste and savor and lick at, bite at. Mine to have, for as long I wanted.

He had said the words.

Out loud.

I should be jumping for joy, singing to the heavens, skipping down the yellow brick road.

I should be getting laid.

_Is that all you are? _

Fuck.

I pushed away from him, struggling to sit up.

We were breathing heavily, sitting across from one another.

"I don't want to know that this is over."

Didn't want to know it, wanted to pretend anything but.

Carlisle's hand threaded into mine.

"It's your call Rosalie. It always has been."

Had it? Really? Always been my call?

Because everything felt so blurry and so _not_ my call. Everything I wanted I couldn't have.

No, that was a lie.

I got everything I wanted.

Everything.

I was Rosalie Hale, of course I did.

Everything but him, which is what had started this whole mess in the first place.

I got everything, even him.

And I had unintentionally threatened his career, both our reputations, and broken my own heart by trying to have everything.

And now I had to give up everything and start back over with nothing.

"I'm out."

Out of options, out of cockiness, out of plans and brilliance.

Out of this relationship.

Out of my fucking mind.

Carlisle nodded slowly, looking for all the world like he didn't believe me but was trying to hide it.

Looking like he knew that if he pulled me back under him I'd happily stay there for the rest of eternity.

I stiffly stood, my hands suddenly feeling like very large, very awkward claws that had nothing to do, so I stared at them.

Felt them rise up to press at both of my red cheeks as I choked back sobs and felt my mouth glue itself shut to prevent a slew of words I didn't want to come out.

Then his hands were there, covering mine and he leaned in and inhaled deeply, holding me there, in the cradle of his arms, the one place I thought I'd never leave.

"Anytime you need me…want me…anytime. You know where to find me."

I nodded into his neck and let go of him.

Felt him let go of me.

Was very aware of my dry face, of the poised composure that I had, without even trying.

I never had composure.

It was a cornerstone of my personality that everything that I felt came out, either through my words or my expressions.

I didn't hold anything back because I wasn't scared.

So why wasn't I crying if I was choosing to walk away from this man?

Why wasn't I on the floor, curled up in my sad little ball, fucking sobbing?

My fingers reached the cool brass of the doorknob.

His hands got there first, brushing mine as he opened the door, my cab still sitting there in the drive, idling.

My eyes met his and our calmness was there, in each other's faces.

Like one of those dreams where everything is fog and mist and just out of reach.

Like neither one of us believed this was the end.

I walked out the door and knew he watched as I slid in the backseat of the car, quietly giving the address for St. Olaf's.

I waited all night for my composure to slip.

Sat up, listening to sad fucking songs, trying to convince myself.

I had done it.

Said the words, hadn't I?

Removed all the secrecy and pressure and angst from the situation with a simple sentence.

I waited.

Waited through four weeks.

Four weeks.

Seeing him for forty-eight minutes every morning.

Sitting in his room, surrounded by times in which I had touched and been touched by his naked body, his smell, his intelligence and his kindness.

I sat there and waited.

I flirted with Jasper and ignored Edward, talked and laughed with Alice as she tried to sculpt one of hands for the fourteenth times, and tried to be civil to Emmett as he kissed her neck and carried her books and groped her whenever he though she wouldn't fuss about his constant need to be touching her.

I smirked when his hands wandered up the back of her skirt when she bent over to pick up her dropped pencil.

I did my homework.

I ordered new spring clothes.

I went running once the snow left the ground.

I listened to music.

And I waited.

Still there was nothing.

And then I was done waiting.

~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~

April was such a sucky month.

Mud and rain, rain and mud.

It was too wet for anything to grow, the world was too soused in muck to be anything but ugly.

It sludged by with spurts of cold, icy rains and foggy warm days that promised spring, right before hitting you in the face with more sludge.

Today was one of those tantalizing days that promised spring and sunny days and pastel-colored dresses with open-toe Manolos, fresh-shipped from the closest Neiman Marcus'. Teasing, calling to the students of St. Olaf's, almost begging them to put off homework and responsibilities and play in the sun, revel in the promise of a coming summer, and the break from studies and tests and drama.

I stared out the window in my last period study hall and rested my hand on my chin, watching as the bell rang and students flooded the pathways, jackets thrown over arms and bags, sunglasses out and bare legs visible on pale, long hidden away skin.

I knew Alice would be waiting for me, but I didn't go to our usual meeting place.

Instead I ducked into the Kessler building and walked into the last room on the first floor.

Carlisle looked up from his desk. His brows furrowed.

"Rosalie?"

I swallowed and opened my mouth.

No words came out.

Carlisle set down his pen and stood up, pushing his chair out and walking toward me.

"Rosalie. Did you need something?"

Yes, damn you. I did need something.

I shook my head. No. My brain was screaming no. This was just like the summer; I didn't need the drugs, but I wanted them.

Lord help me, I wanted them.

"Rosalie." His hand reached out to rest on my arm. "Rosalie."

I squeezed my eyes shut and wished I could do the same and block out that wonderful, beautiful voice.

"Maybe you should go."

His voice was unsteady, uncertain.

I had told him I was done.

He was trying to respect that.

But I was weak.

And I was young.

And I crumbled.

My chin trembled.

My eyes leaked.

My nose sniffled.

My fingers tightened around his.

And then we were standing in the middle of the room, surrounded by empty desks and the smell of recently sharpened pencils, and he was kissing me and clutching me and owning every last breath and heartbeat of me. Hands beneath my jacket, gripping and tugging me closer, lips hard and demanding, tongue scalding and possessive, he loosened the knot in my stomach, quieted the cries in my head.

I was simply done waiting.

And we were so far gone neither of us noticed the body in the doorway, or the shocked pair of eyes widen as we stood in the sunlit classroom, tangled up in one another and oblivious to the world around us.


	25. Borderline

_**A/N: So I would like to thank the ladies on the thread and every person who has ever reviewed. I know I haven't been able to respond as frequently as I like, but considering the ratio between time spent answering reviews or writing, I'm guessing writing wins ;)**_

_**Also, chapter 8 has been rewritten, in keeping with the A/R POV style of this story, so catch up on maybe a few details that have been added. The original 8 (or most of it) will probably go up in the outtakes section.**_

Chapter 25: Borderline

"_**Something in the way you love me won't let me be  
I don't want to be your prisoner so baby wont you set me free"**_

There's nothing sinister about the doorway; it is in fact the exact same door as all the others, except that it is labeled in shiny numbers 301.

The handle of the door is slightly scuffed from use, and the edge of a mat peeks out from beneath the quarter inch or less of space between the bottom of the door and the floor.

Even the hallway is brightly lit, with warm yellow ceiling lights, instead of the garish white fluorescents in the other dorm hallways.

Noises, muted by walls and ceilings, and doors, keep the hallway from being silent, but I have yet to see another person since I stepped off the elevator.

I stare at the numbers, able to see a distorted shadow in faux gold-plating, my own distorted image reflected back, nervously shifting from one foot to the other.

My hands are twisting around themselves, wrenching in front of me, waiting for a decision.

It would be pointless to ask how I got here, because the why's and the how's are too patently obvious.

Now the only question was whether I would go in.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

_Four and a half weeks earlier…_

The door shut with finality.

I stared at like it was at fault for every terrible thing that had happened in the last two and a half hours.

Dinner.

Rosalie.

Professor Carlisle.

Esme.

Edward.

Rosalie again, with her half-hearted words spewing all over me, berating me to mind my own business, to grow up and let her deal with this as she would.

It was perhaps the poorest performance of Rosalie Hale that Rosalie Hale had ever given. The words lacked wit, their usual alliteration vanished, the spite carried by an underscore of weakness. Of fragility.

She had left the door wide open when she dramatically swept out.

I took the liberty of finishing the scene by slamming the door shut myself.

How quickly the tides are turning.

Forty-five minutes ago I was miserable for her and Esme. Forty-three minutes ago I was furious with Carlisle.

Twenty-five minutes ago I was frustrated with Edward's complete obliviousness to the fact that Rosalie Hale was an utter fucking mess, fifteen minutes ago I was having belated guilt over being so harsh with Edward, and ten seconds ago I was ready to hit Rosalie for being so obstinate.

I was jumping out of my skin, literally unable to do anything but pace and fume and clench my fists ineffectually.

Why was I even involved in this? I wasn't the one screwing a teacher. I wasn't the one hopelessly and idiotically fawning over a girl he couldn't even see clearly, I certainly wasn't the one who had to find out in front of her parents that her ex boyfriend-lover-fuck-buddy was nailing a student.

I could just step out and let time do as it pleased with them all, and so much the better for me.

I fumbled for my phone.

"Back already? " Came the cheerfully tired reply. "I'm just cleaning up."

I smiled and tried to remember what normalcy felt like.

"How was the match?"

"Draw. But I got some good work in on my footwork. Seth's a weight class below me and he's a fast son of a bitch. Got a few hits in, but then again, so did I."

"Come over when you're done?"

I could practically see his forehead wrinkling. "Uh-oh."

Emmett hadn't exactly been thrilled when I detailed the guest list for Mr. Cullen's birthday dinner. I stayed quiet.

"Which one was it?" He asked, sounding a lot more tired now. I didn't pretend to not understand the question.

"Both." I muttered.

A long sigh.

"Ten minutes."

He was there in eight, little water droplets occasionally rolling from his hair to the collar of his t-shirt. He scooped me up in his arms and we crashed onto the loveseat in the corner, his legs hanging over one of the edges as he sighed and kissed my elbow, which was closest to his mouth as I tried to get comfortable.

"Was the food at least good?"

I smiled. "The to-go carton is in the fridge when you're ready."

There was no point in asking him if he was hungry. The answer would always be yes.

And after that he waited, hands rubbing up and down my back, eyes half-lidded as my own fingers traced the new bruises and scrapes he had gotten in the boxing ring that evening. One or two looked fairly vicious, but he had had worse.

I liked the idea that he was covered in the physical evidence of his hardships, and I was covered in emotional bruises as I tried to find the words to explain how horribly wrong tonight had gone. It seemed like that described a good deal about our personalities.

In the end, there was really only one sentence that could possibly begin to imply how much damage had already been done, and the potential for what was still to come.

"Rosalie's been sleeping with Professor Cullen."

His eyes popped open and his hand stopped its soothing motion as he studied me.

Emmett's eyes never held the ruthless, interrogative confidence that Rosalie's did, nor was he discerningly provocative in his gazes like Edward.

When Emmett studied me, he wasn't looking to pry information or charm it out of me; he was looking for the answers on how to make me feel better.

I wondered what the answer would be tonight.

I felt like shit.

"You've known about that though."

Startled, I nearly rolled off of his chest. He didn't catch me; just let me use his arm as a balancing beam until I readjusted my position so I was straddling his torso, staring at him.

"You knew?"

"No, but you told me that Rosalie was seeing someone she needed Jasper to cover for. I didn't know who it was until just now."

"That doesn't bug you?"

"That Rosalie's ego extends beyond the proportions I once thought? Not really." He snorted.

"How is this about her ego?" Though I had an inkling that I knew what was coming.

"Come on Alice. I know you two are like besties or some shit, but Hale lives to prove people wrong. Instead of being the blonde perfect princess with a matching Ken-doll boyfriend, she became the coked-out bitch with the drug pusher for a fuck buddy. When she could easily be Homecoming Princess or student body representative, she comes up with this half-cocked, extremely stupid plan to bomb out those exact people that would take those titles from her. And when she's feeling threatened, she'll do just about anything to take everything just one step further and screw a teacher. She doesn't want anyone to label her, and yet she still wants all the glory and adoration being the poster-girl for that label will bring her. This is just one more stunt in her arsenal of vapid, self-absorbed twatfuckery."

Well.

That was blunt.

"That was mean, even if you don't like her." And as frustrated as I was with Rosalie, I still wanted to defend her.

Emmett let out an exasperated huff. "I get it Alice. She's your friend. Doesn't mean it isn't true."

I attempted to roll away and onto the floor, and he let me go, easily sensing I was not in the mood to be cuddled. He watched me pace from the loveseat.

And there was that awful silence where neither of us knew what to say. I hated those silences. I was a talkative person, a person who prided herself in having something to say.

But I was quiet, and that was unacceptable.

I should be filling the silence with something about how Rosalie was my first friend, the first person to see me and treat me like a human being.

Except that wasn't quite true, and I wasn't feeling friendly enough to stretch the truth at the moment.

Yes, Rosalie had stuck up for me in front of my ex-roommate and given me a place to live that wasn't in the one of the lesser circles of hell, but she hadn't been the classic definition of a friend.

She didn't talk about her relationship with Carlisle, and she avoided Edward until I had felt the need to intervene and just put him out of his misery. She had fucked my boyfriend. And she was careless with how her words fell, careless with her actions.

And I was willing to overlook that, because I was one of the only people that I knew of that Rosalie depended on, could fall apart in front of, even if it stung her pride.

We were friends. Not the kind that stayed up eating fatty pizza and talking about cute boys. Not the kind that shopped in the same sorts of stores. Not the kind that told secrets.

We were not the kind of friends that were baptized by sleepovers and giggles.

We had been pushed together by much stronger, much harder factors.

We were the kind of friends that kept secrets. That respected when one needed space and silence, the kind that would be there to kick someone's ass or mouth off to whoever happened to piss the other off.

Weren't we?

I eventually made my way back in front of the loveseat, where Emmett was lazily stretched out, waiting.

I stood there, for once looking down instead of up, and gave him a tired smile. He returned it and pulled me back down to him.

"I think there's a good person beneath all the venom."

"You wouldn't be Alice if you didn't." He kissed my shoulder, shoving my cardigan down my shoulder.

"Am I an idiot, thinking that she's going to change?"

Emmett was kicking off his tennis shoes, next to my cardigan and heels.

"You spend too much time worrying about other people. Sometimes you have to worry about yourself. Or let me worry about you."

He was at the front of my neck now.

"I told you I can take care of myself. I'm a big girl." But my fingers curled around the upper muscles of his arms and I groaned when he scraped his teeth against my skin. I could feel him hardening against my legs, felt the heat notch up a couple of degrees.

He was always thrumming with adrenaline after a practice match in the ring. Hands running everywhere, so eager to get me naked and under him.

Alright, not under him.

Never under him actually.

In what must be some kind of strange record, we have never had sex in the missionary position.

Me on top.

On our sides.

Me on top.

From behind.

Me on top.

Sitting down, with me on top.

Me on top.

I hadn't questioned it, just assumed it was a thing for him and let him do his thing.

Tonight was a good night for questioning things.

"I want you to fuck me Emmett." I whispered, kissing his chin. He exhaled and his hands were running under my clothes now, seeking skin on skin connection.

"Yeah?" He grunted, and I smiled down at him. Got you.

I palmed the bulge in the front of his athletic shorts, massaging firmly, twisting the silky mesh around his very interested dick.

"Shit." His hips bucked up and I put a hand on his chest to steady myself.

"I want you deep. I want to be on my back, with my legs over your shoulders, and I want to feel you all over me."

His eyes popped open. His hips stopped rocking.

But his cock got harder in my hand.

"Alice." He moved his hand down to take hold of mine, pulling it away from him.

"Something you'd like to tell me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"Don't be difficult."

"Tell me why you have a problem with me being on the bottom."

Emmett struggled to sit up with me practically on his chest, but he managed eventually.

"I don't have a problem with that!" He sputtered.

Oh.

He wanted to play like that, did he?

"Alright then. Let me suck your cock."

Said cock jumped at my words and Emmett's eyes glazed over for a moment.

"I…" he stuttered, and then seemed to see where this was going, "stop it Alice."

"Stop what? Wanting to go down on my boyfriend? Stop fantasizing about getting fucked through the mattress?"

"Yes!" He lifted me up and got off the couch.

"Well, I'm not going to, so you better tell me why you're being such a girl about this."

Emmett blanched. He was walking funny, trying to ease the serious erection that I had caused, and my lips twitched as I looked at him.

He'd buckle, just as soon as I ridded him of whatever silly notion he had gotten into his head.

And I had a fairly good idea of what was bothering him.

"Is this because of Edward? Because I never gave him a blowjob—"

"ALICE!" Emmett's hand reflexively covered his ears and his eyes squeezed tightly shut.

And my boyfriend—my beautiful, broad, well-built boyfriend—was standing in the middle of the sitting room of my dorm with his makeshift earmuffs covering his apparently delicate ears, and his face screwed up, as though he was blocking a particularly unappealing visual image, with his dick creating a tent, bobbing in his shorts, which gave little to no support if he was free-balling it.

And I would bet money he was indeed free-balling, with every intention of getting laid by his oh so willing girlfriend, who was trying to decide between giggling or pouncing at the man in front of me.

As soon as I got him to break down and let me get under his dick.

"It's not. Cullen." Emmett's lip curled in distaste. "I don't care if you've given a hundred—never mind. It's _not_ about Cullen."

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

"So it's about your perpetual dislike for a girl to be eating your dick like it's cheesecake?"

Emmett glared at me with one eye, the other still shut.

I admit the simile could have been better.

I could have at least picked a phallic-shaped food to compare to.

"Why are you pushing this? What we do…how we do it is fucking fantastic."

"Well, you'll get no argument from me there, but that doesn't answer my question."

Emmett's hands fisted in the sides of his t-shirt. He glared at me, both eyes open now.

"I'm a big girl Emmett; I can handle a bad sexual encounter story or whatever you throw out there."

But now I was starting to worry. Beginning to think that this was something big, and I had somehow missed it. In my mind, blowjobs and positions weren't a big deal. Sure I wanted to see how the difference felt, wanted to please him however I could, but it wasn't worth arguing over. What could he possibly be not saying?

"You keep saying that. You can handle it. You're a big girl. You're not. You're fucking five foot three and I can wrap my hands around your entire waist. You're tiny. And I'm…I'm a giant next to you. I get a stiff neck if I kiss you when we're both standing. You can barely reach up to kiss me when you're on top. And when I'm…fuck! When I'm inside of you, I can't even…I'm out of my mind. It's like…it's like…There AREN'T any word for it. And when you're on top I can let you control the pace. And now you just want to hand over that control like…like you trust me. Like I can have sex with you under me and not have to worry about being too hard, being too deep, hurting you. Like it's not even an issue at all!"

Emmett stared at me with troubled brown eyes and I stared back, my mouth open and my brain stalling as the words sunk in.

He was afraid he was going to hurt me.

My Emmett, the one who picked me up right before he ever kissed me the first time.

The one who had to bend down over a half of foot to meet me eyes.

The one who made sure I always slept on the outside of the bed, so I wouldn't get squished between him the bed.

Emmett who came to the library to visit me and quiz me for Spanish tests after boxing practice, even though he was exhausted.

Who tied my ties for me and left them hanging over his desk chair so when I was rushing to get to detention in the morning, I wouldn't have to bother.

Who listened to me rant and never took it personally when I focused more on Rosalie and her life than I did on his or mine.

Emmett collapsed next to me and his arm wrapped around me, pulling us together.

Emmett took vulnerability almost as well as Rosalie did, which was to say not at all.

"You didn't tell me before."

Before when I had been begging for sex, searching for it, finding it in the arms of someone else.

Was this why he had paused? Why he had slammed the door in my face?

He was scared?

Emmett didn't say anything, just watched me carefully with those troubled eyes of his.

"You're utterly ridiculous, you realize this right?"

Half-smile. Progress.

"You will fuck me Emmett. On top of me, inside of me. Maybe not tonight, but you will. And then we'll look back at this conversation and I will take great pleasure in teasing you about being the only boy on the planet who does not want a blowjob."

A true smile, with his beautiful lips spreading and cracking until he licked them awkwardly and looked away.

I slid myself onto his lap, familiarly straddling him, holding his face so he was looking at me. He looked doubtful.

"I'm…too big. It's still…you still get sore. Every time."

It was true. Emmett was built like a horse all the way around, and no matter how gentle or turned on I was, he wore me out. It was possibly the best pain that had ever existed, but I had no way of explaining that to him.

I had no way of assuring him it would be fine, because it wasn't like I had done it before with him.

And I doubted he would appreciate hearing another Edward reference right about now.

I sighed and buried my head in his neck.

It seemed like none of our problems were going to get solved tonight.

So the next best option was grinding on my boyfriend's junk and kissing that spot on his Adam's apple until he made that noise which promised me more delicious soreness tomorrow morning, and a solid night's sleep once he was finished letting me ride us both to madness and beyond.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I awoke to the door opening and emitting a weak beam of light from the hallway. Emmett grumbled and turned over, effectively sending me tumbling almost to the floor.

I managed to get a foot on the ground and catch myself, standing up to stare at Rosalie, completely naked.

Rosalie turned on the lamp on my desk and leaned back to look behind me at Emmett, not on his stomach, his back, ass, and legs illuminated by warm yellow light to give Rosalie a fantastic view. She hardly blinked, disappearing into her room.

I grabbed my robe, turned off the desk lamp, and glanced once more at Emmett's heavily slumbering form.

"What happened?" I asked, watching as Rose undressed and tossed her clothes on the floor.

She stared into her closet, completely naked, like it held the answers to life.

"I broke up with him. I think."

"You—wait. You _think_?"

Rosalie's head bobbed. "I did. I said the words. But it feels weird. Like it was just pretend. Like I was reading off of a script. Saying the right thing."

Well that cleared that right up Rose, thanks.

"But you aren't going to go back to him, right?"

Rosalie pulled a tank top over her head and glanced at me. "No."

That 'no' didn't sound as definite as I would have liked.

"Are he and Esme—"

"No. It was never like that for them."

Really? Because having sex with someone is usually a pretty good indicator that it was 'like that' for them. I swallowed the retort.

"You did the right thing."

Rosalie gave me a very false smile. "Of course I did. My father would be so proud."

I ignored the sarcasm.

"You made the choice on your own. Now you just have to stick to it. There's just a month and a half or so of school left."

Rosalie's head was nodding, but she wasn't listening. I could see that she was somewhere else entirely.

"Well…I should leave you alone. Goodnight Rose."

Rosalie returned the sentiment and I quietly slipped out her door.

Emmett was still naked and still asleep on the couch.

I looked longingly at my own bed and the space it would afford me, before crawling onto the miniscule amount of space left on the loveseat and trying to sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Four weeks.

For four weeks I met Rosalie right after school, studied with her in the library, went with her to the store and watched her purchase an obscene amount of spring clothes without trying anything on.

I watched her dictate her life and smiled when the people around her scurried to do her bidding.

I watched her wait.

I kept waiting for the break-down, had nightmares of Rosalie turning up high and frighteningly out of control when the reality set in. Made sure the door between our rooms was open as much as possible, kept my phone on me at all times.

I went running with her, even though her leggy stride was equal to two entire paces for me.

I dragged her along to Emmett's boxing matches and afterwards to the cheap movie theater in town, when we could hop a ride with one of Emmett's buddies.

Both Rosalie and Emmett stayed politely silent about the amount of time they had to spend in one another's company, particularly Emmett, as I insisted on spending every night in my room, making sure Rosalie came home at a decent hour and stayed there all night.

It was mid-April and I was checking my watch, frowning at the time.

She was late.

Not a couple of minutes late, but ten minutes late.

She had study hall last period; there would be questions to ask a teacher or assignments to write down.

She usually beat me to her locker.

And then I was running.

Running across campus until I reached the Kessler building and through the double doors until I turned the corner on the first floor and ran for the last room in the corridor.

The door was open.

That was a good sign.

I reached the door, slowing until I was standing still, not really aware of what I was seeing.

The sun was glaring through the windows of his room, causing me to wince and squint.

But there was no mistaking the two blonde figures, draped in a halo of golden sunshine, intertwined so thoroughly that they took what little breath I had, completely away.

Rosalie was leaning up on her toes, out of her shoes, her hand on the back of his neck, a looked of pained bliss on her lovely face.

He was crushing her to him, an arm around her back, the other fisted in her hair, a matching look of relief and heaven on his face.

I heard Rosalie whimper softly and he shushed her, pulling back just briefly to trace her jaw with his lips, before recapturing her with his mouth, drawing a groan from them both.

"Quite the visually stimulating scene, isn't it, angel-face?"

I whipped around, coming nose to collar bone with that familiar baritone drawl.

I watched his Adam's apple bob with his amusement, as he looked down at me, less than an inch away from me.

If I moved it would have to be backwards and into the room where, as far as I knew, Rosalie and her professor were still sucking face.

I stayed put.

I hadn't even heard him come up behind me.

Jackson Whitlock looked over the top of me, tilting his head in faux appreciation, like he was looking at a particularly intriguing piece of art.

"Can't hardly blame Dr. Carlisle, can you? God I can practically see her tits from here." His mouth opened a little, and his breathing was a bit more heavy than usual.

I grabbed his wrist and tried to yank him away from the doorway, looking up and down the hallway.

No one.

No one but myself and the man who was currently refusing to budge while he stared.

Stared at my best friend who was currently unaware that she was making the biggest mistake of her life in front of one of the most dangerous people in this school.

"Jax!" I hissed and he finally jolted out of his stupor and moved out of their line of sight. I peeked once more around the door and sighed when I saw Dr. Carlisle's hands on Rosalie's hips.

I turned to Jax and stared at him.

He grinned and offered me his elbow.

I took it and practically dragged him to the back door of the Kessler building, where teachers could sneak out for a cigarette break.

"Who knew? Probably not my baby brother." Jackson lounged on one of the railings, the sun hitting just the top of his dirty blonde spikes. He pulled his tie loose and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it there as he watched me watch him.

"You can't tell."

Jackson's eyebrow shot sky high. "I can't huh? Well let's see. Rosalie Hale is _fucking_ Professor Carlisle. Well there you see, I'm pretty sure I _can_.

I grit my teeth and tried not to scream or cry or kick him. Jax saw all of this and just grinned toothily at me.

"Don't see why you're wound up over this sweetheart, it's not like I caught _you_ bent over his desk."

I scowled at him. "You know exactly why I'm 'wound'."

Another infuriating smile.

"McCarty not doing it for you huh? I'd suggest you try Carlisle, but Hale looked a little territorial in there, so maybe not."

"Fuck off." I snapped.

Jackson snorted. "More than fine with me. I'll do just that." He got up and grabbed his things.

"Wait!"

Fuck.

I was going to have to beg.

"Something else you want Angel-face?"

Oh I was so entirely going to rip off his testicles and make earring out of them when I was finished with him.

"I think we both know that this is about what you want."

His eyes widened comically.

"Now that is quite the statement. How did you ever come up with that?"

He exaggeratedly sat down and sat up straight, like the astute bastard he was.

Of course he was going to milk this for all it was worth.

I contemplated just walking away and leaving Rosalie to the mercy of the ass in front of me.

Walk away!

Just go!

Rosalie is a big girl; she has to learn that mistakes have consequences at some time.

But the look on Rosalie's face the past four weeks stopped me from walking.

The confused, blank look, like she didn't understand why she had ever pulled herself away in the first place.

The look on her face when Esme mentioned Carlisle in the car on the way to Mr. Cullen's birthday dinner.

The Thursday before Thanksgiving.

The look on her face when she came back from his house, and she hadn't needed words to tell me they had slept together.

I turned to Jax and eyed him.

"What will it take to keep you quiet about Rosalie?"

Those brown eyes turned calculating. They travelled over me, but returned to my face fairly quickly.

"Sweetheart, I'm not into forcing chicks. I'm not a fucking rapist. You come up with something you want to give me, really _**want**_, not just want to get your slutty little friend out of hot water, and you come see me. 301 in Helmsley."

And then he was striding past me, the smell of his cologne just a whiff as he passed, whistling a cheery tune.

His hand brushed my ass as he slid past me, even though he had plenty of room to step around me.

I shivered.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I found Rosalie in the basement of the library.

Her eyes were swollen and black; there were visible black streaks on her cheeks and hands as she pushed the tears away.

"Rosalie."

"Alice…" She sobbed and grabbed my hand, pulling me down next to her. "I did something stupid."

"I know Rose." I murmured, but she didn't hear me she was crying so hard.

"I kissed him. I couldn't help it. I was just so tired of…of pretending this was over. But when I let go I just knew. I thought I had ended it, but I didn't let my-myself believe it. I went to the registrar and dropped his class."

My mouth fell open.

"Are you insane? You had an A and now you'll have to retake the class _again_! You won't be able to graduate on time. Any colleges will…" I broke off.

She knew all that.

Knew what that would do to her chances for getting into a good school, knew what that would do her file and her goals and ambitions.

"It's over. It's over." She whispered, clenching my fingers so hard some of my knuckles popped. "Oh god."

And then Rosalie Hale went very thoroughly to pieces in my arms, sobbing in the archive section of the school library, while three floors above, our classmates were slaving over their final projects.

~*~*~*~*~**~*~*~*~*~*

I texted Emmett that we were skipping dinner and I waited until Rosalie took a Tylenol PM and was passed out before I made my way over to Helmsley.

Where I was currently standing.

Where I had been standing for nearly forty minutes.

Remembering.

Reliving.

My hands are still twisting around themselves, wrenching in front of me, waiting for a decision.

Pointless I reminded myself.

Pointless to ask how or why it came to this. How it came to be me standing here.

I knew how.

I swallowed and raised my hand.

The door opened.

"Finally decided whether to come in or not?"

He had been watching me through the peephole.

I wondered how long.

I nodded slowly, meeting those brown eyes that were currently simmering and sparking with something much more potent than blackmail or lust or anything else I had ever seen from him.

"Well then get in here, before someone sees you and goes running to McCarty."

I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I looked down.

A hand lifted my chin and he was there, centimeters away from me, his breath ghosting on my face.

"Just our little secret angel-face. Just ours."

His other hand reached down to slide his hand besides mine.

I took the invitation and grabbed it, pulling him inside the room and shutting the door silently.

"_**Borderline feels like I'm going to lose my mind  
You just keep on pushing my love over the borderline"**_


	26. A Good Man is Hard to Find

A/N: For those of you wondering (or accusing me of not really being a language arts teacher, lol), yes I will be going back after this story is completed and editing. My apologies if the occasional type, subject verb agreement error throws you off. I simply am not the type of person who can wait and edit. I assure you my credentials are quite real and once I pound out the remaining chapters, I will fix my boo-boos. That's just my style, so you can either deal with the typos or wait until I'm done editing and can mark this as complete.

Thanks for all the support and wonderful reviews that have been happening. Not to mention all the hotness on the thread  And no, there's not really a cliffy this time.

"_**The truth does not change according to our ability to stomach it."**__**  
**_

~Flannery O'Connor

Chapter 26: A Good Man is Hard to Find

My hands were shaking.

It made it practically impossible to unbutton a shirt.

His hands did the work instead; with smooth, long fingers and squared fingernails, he carefully undid the off-white buttons on his orange plaid shirt, revealing lightly freckled collar bones and a shallow line from the space between his collarbones to his bellybutton, and the dark line of hair that started there, trailing to the opened top of his jeans.

He set my hands on the button-up fly of his artfully faded and soft jeans.

And with the thicker, sturdier material, I managed to work with those, despite the shaking.

His nimble, smooth hands made quick work of my t-shirt and sports bra, 'tsking' slightly when he saw my feeble attempt at keeping this as not sexy as possible.

It didn't seem to deter him, if the bulge in front of me was any indication.

We hadn't said anything.

No words.

It made it seem dirty.

Jackson was full of words.

It was worse when he was quiet.

His hand squeezed the flesh he had just freed, pinching one of my nipples until I squeaked in surprise, bringing me out of my panic-induced thoughts.

"Your tits," He smirked and squeezed again, "are completely fuckable."

Uh, thanks?

Maybe the quiet was better.

"Here." He pushed me off his lap on the couch in the living room of the apartment-like place he shared with three others guys, placing me on the floor between his feet. His knees spread as he lifted his hips and shoved his jeans and underwear to the floor, kicking the material off and settling into the overstuffed black leather.

Oh.

Okay then.

I have officially seen one penis to many.

Too, too many penises.

Peni? Penises?

Penises. Whatever. I was one penis over the limit.

Even so, this one was…nice.

Appealing.

Swollen to a pinkish-purple color and pointing straight up as he stroked it a few times, smirking as I watched with big eyes.

Everything about this man was carefully cultivated to appeal and attract.

My mouth was dry.

I licked my lips and heard him groan.

His fingers caught me under my chin again, forcing my head and eyes up to him.

"Do it again."

I swallowed roughly and licked my bottom then my top lips, rubbing them together.

He pulled me forward by the chin and closer to his lap until I was millimeters away from his erection.

He released me. "Just like that," he whispered, and slouched further into the cushions.

I leaned forward and took a deep breath, letting it out in a rush.

Jax shivered and bit out a strangled curse as I took the head into my mouth.

Carefully balancing my hands on his thighs, feeling the muscles there tighten and released under my fingers, I experimentally sucked on the head, bringing a little more of him into my mouth, feeling how big he really felt.

He let me go for a few minutes as I adjusted and tried to guess a rhythm that he would like, not giving me any indication except with the hand that was rubbing strands of my hair between his fingers. Then his left hand pressed into my scalp, guiding me down further on him, setting a pace that was too quick for me.

"Take it…yeah, take it all." Jax's hips shifted slightly, seeking a more pleasing position, trying to find more warmth, more friction. He nudged the back of my throat and I abruptly pulled back.

"Tease." He smiled at me, his eyes half-lidded and still searing me with simmering caramel and chocolate, hand guiding back onto him.

I hmm'ed in protest and his hips bucked sharply in surprise, sending him even further down my throat than before. I lost all my air supply and coughed, choked.

Pulled away and turned my head away, eyes watering. The hand in my hair was still tangled in the mixture of dark blue and black and didn't let me get too far.

"Slowly, angel-face," he whispered, the words warm and amused. My pride was aching.

I re-engulfed him, feeling the press of his fingers against the curve of my skull, tighter and firmer than before.

"Eyes up."

I lifted my eyes, and through my damp lashes, which were sticking together due to the mascara I had stupidly put on that morning, I watched him as I ran my tongue on the underside of him, finishing by swirling it around the head, seeing the corresponding flickering in his body and the way his head rolled from side to side luxuriously, as he fought to stay still. My fingers were digging into his thighs to prevent a repeat of what had happened before, but if I was hurting him, it was a good hurt.

A great hurt, if the expression on his face was any indication.

And we established a pattern, if not a rhythm. He would rock his hips into my mouth and when he receded I would dip my head as deep as I was comfortable going. I kept my eyes open and on him at his insistence, as his free hand trailed over the lines of my cheekbones, even more noticeable when I hollowed my cheeks around him, generating a rumble of appreciation from his chest. A single finger traveled the line of my nose, around the uneven line of my hair, across my brows.

And just as our pace was becoming too much for my aching jaw, Jax pulled me away and up his body, rolling me onto my back as he followed me down, over me. He didn't hold any of his weight off of me; let himself fall heavy on me, with his wet cock trapped between us, pressing heavily against my jeans.

"I want _more_…let me….I want more sweetheart."

His stubble was scraping my shoulder. His voice was barely recognizable it was so hoarse and cloudy, hardly more than a whisper. A plea muffled by skin and need. His thumb toyed with my nipple, the heat of his arousal searing me even through denim fabric. My body responded and I tried to ignore it, as I had been ignoring it while I watched him.

"Please, Alice." He rasped quietly and I met his brown eyes for only a moment.

I knew what he was asking for, what he wanted.

And for a moment I considered throwing myself off that ledge, crossing that Rubicon, kicking my line in the sand into oblivion, because a very small, very ashamed part of me wanted to give him everything he wanted.

But my line in the sand stood firm and I turned my head away, my hand reaching down to stroke him firmly, to run my thumb all the way up and down and then swirl it around the sensitive skin at the top, until his hips rocked forward harshly and his breathing stuttered and exploded in a loud whoosh of air, and he spilled onto my stomach.

He came gripping my hip and breast, head buried in my shoulder, shuddering and quietly losing all control in my grasp.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I used his shower, slipping out from under him silently, still on the couch.

It really did have five settings.

I pretended that the droplets of water on my face were tears, because even though I wanted them, the actual tears would not come.

I stood under the spray and stared blankly at the white tiles.

I don't remember turning off the faucet of replacing my clothes onto my body.

I emerged to find him still naked on the sofa, on his back, staring at the ceiling. His head turned to watch me go to the door and shove my feet into my shoes, laces be damned.

I tried to ignore him. Tried to ignore the prick running across my skin like tiny needles as he watched.

I failed.

As my hand found the doorknob and I was seconds away from being free, I turned back.

He was still naked.

Still watching.

"A secret." I repeated the words that had been running on loop through my weary, mixed-up head.

Jax rolled to his side, propping his head on his hand. He was already half-hard again.

"Our secret." He confirmed, eyes roving over me that was now one hundred times more intuitive and knowing than it had been before.

I slipped out the door.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

When I got to the dorm, I slipped inside, aware that Rosalie was already asleep in her room.

Two missed texts.

I turned off my phone without reading them.

I didn't even bother to lie down and pretend to sleep. There was no point.

In the morning I skipped detention for the first time.

I spent the rest of the week faking sick and not going to classes.

I refused to let Emmett or Rosalie baby me or even be in the same room as me.

Rosalie, sharp eyes missing very little, seemed to understand my sudden need for solitude, and brought missing work for me to do while I paced in my room during the days.

When she couldn't help but be in the room with me, we spent our time silently; each brooding over our own issues. The line between our rooms became the dividing line between our problems.

She asked me once what was wrong, and then didn't, as I didn't answer the first time. She kept Emmett out of our room and gave me as much space as possible while sharing a room with me.

I didn't want to see anyone at the moment.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

On Monday afternoon I was forced to return to class, as it was the last week of classes before finals. I sat in my lit class and stared blankly at the teacher while she practically frothed at the mouth over our final papers, due in less than one week.

I rolled my eyes and let my brain wander.

In my time last week I had used homework to avoiding thinking about other things. My paper was finished, barring a final editing.

"…about Rosalie Hale." A hushed, awed voice spoke the name with a faint tone of reverence, the other half with gleeful hate.

"I _can't_ believe it! Are you sure?" The returning whisper was almost rabid in its excitement.

I tensed, and fought the compulsion to turn around and listen in on the whispered conversation happening behind me.

"She's already got Jasper Whitlock panting over her…what does she need him for?"

"I know, right? But she swears it true. And she is in his class…"

"No way. No _way_!"

"I swear. Rosalie's sleeping with Professor Cullen."

My pen went hurling to the floor, ink leaking all over my hand the dripping onto the scuffed tiles.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

By the next morning, the rumors weren't just whispers anymore.

They were shouts.

Exclamations.

Vicious ponderings.

They were loud enough to send the teachers into a grim, thin-lipped silence. Even more irritable than ever, assignments became labors of silence unless a class wished to add on even more work. Tests became almost unreadable in their difficulty, and detentions were handed out if anyone so much as wandered off task during any talking that was allowed during the class period.

The teachers were hearing the rumors as well.

And if the teachers were hearing it, it was only a matter of time before the administration began smelling the smoke, imaginary or not.

All because one playboy senior couldn't keep his end of a bargain.

And if the sparks ignited into a fire, and Rosalie was burnt because of it, I was personally going to strap Jackson Whitlock onto a spit and roast him like a stuck pig.

In fourth period Tuesday morning, now the only class Rosalie and I shared, Rosalie's seat was empty.

Halfway through the period I asked to the go to the bathroom and texted Emmett, who had third period science with her.

The reply took a couple of minutes and I could imagine Emmett thinking that I had been avoiding talking to him, avoiding his texts, avoiding his calls, only to text him about Rosalie Hale, of all people.

**Called to office during 3****rd****. **

I snapped my phone shut, fought the urge to throw it.

Thought about Rosalie's habit of throwing things when she was angry.

I hadn't really ever understood the compulsion. Screaming into a pillow, yes. Writing down everything and then shredding the pieces, on occasion. Pillowing your fist into someone's balls, only once.

But throwing things, things of value that would only hurt yourself? I didn't see the point until that very minute.

I wanted to throw my phone, my shoes, my books, anything, at the wall, if just to pretend for a moment that it was Jax's face. Jax and his stupid, ugly, evilly gorgeous, smug-ass face. His lean body. His stupid bobbing cock, dripping with pre-come.

I wanted to smash him into little pieces and then stomp on the remains until he was nothing but dust under my feet, dust I could blow away and forget about with a good breeze.

I stared at myself in the mirror. My face was flushed; mottled with anger and embarrassment and shame.

Let's be honest Alice.

This wasn't about Rosalie.

It hadn't been about Rosalie since that night at Helmsley.

This was about Jax.

Jax and his goddamn charm, and the hint of the guy you were attracted to that didn't exist.

There was no good side to that ass.

No hidden layers that actually wanted anything from me but sex.

Thinking otherwise was a fucking stupid thing to think.

Only a hick wouldn't understand that basic concept.

A hick who was now pretending to be upset because he had broken his end of the bargain. Of course he had. I knew he would. Was there anything in him that had ever even suggested he was trustworthy? Honest? Decent?

I angrily wiped away the tears.

I screwed up.

I wanted Jax and I thought I'd find a good man underneath the bravado.

Instead I found a jackass. The same jackass that had been on the surface the entire time. And I had stupidly thought that maybe, if I caved and gave him what he wanted, he would find a way to prove to me he was a good man.

I was a fucking moron.

I already have a good man; which made me the biggest, most ignorant cow on the planet.

But even worse, I have a good man, and I wasn't planning on telling him.

No, that wasn't true.

I don't know if I _could_ make myself say the words, even if I wanted to tell him. I literally don't think my mouth would move. From the moment I decided this was the way I was going to do things; from the moment I pretended like Tanya Denali had done something that was worth punishing, from the power I still held over my viper-tongued ex-roommate, from the knowledge that I could easily drop on Rosalie that Edward was stupidly in love with her, to the power of sex I had with Edward, Emmet, and now Jax, I had grown to like the upper hand; I enjoyed manipulating the outcome to fall in my favor.

I thought I could be my own, better version of Rosalie Hale. Flirted with the idea of having some control for once, and found it quite addicting. Began to view everyone as someone to either protect or separate myself from.

Rosalie had needed my protection. I had been viewing her as helpless, and for good reason. I had found her on a piano for Christ's sake. I fought and worried everyday over how to save her, how to keep her away from drugs and people who had broken her. I told off Edward for her, because I didn't think she could handle the news that he had feelings for her.

I had gone so far as to not say anything about her relationship with a goddamn teacher!

I had done anything I possible could for her, because without Rosalie, who did I have?

Edward, who I had screwed up with by having sex with him, changing the dynamics of our friendship, further complicating things by being best friends with the person who he was in love with. Who didn't love him back. Edward had disappeared weeks ago, for various reasons. He didn't want to intrude on Emmett's claim. He didn't want to have to suffer around Rosalie.

Esme, who was years older than me and finished with school. Esme whose brother's feelings I had stomped all over in the name of protecting Rosalie. Esme who know knew that Rosalie was sleeping with her ex-boyfriend and who knew I knew that bit of information as well.

Emmett.

Emmett, who didn't bat an eye when I ranted and raved, and who hated Rosalie but endured countless hours in her company for me. Emmett who always spent time looking me up and down no matter what I was wearing because he admittedly like looking at me, and who liked the grab the flesh at the back of my thighs best, just because.

Emmett, who was strong and broad, and who took it upon himself to try and shield me, even when I shrieked like a banshee at him for it.

Emmett, who has a thing for damsels.

Emmett, who I thought of as too strong to need saving, much less from someone like me.

But there it was, the big gaping error in all my careful thinking. The thought that had eluded me for the better part of a week.

The truth was, Emmett needed to be saved by me, from me.

I was causing him pain, and I had just steeled myself to accept that the dishing out and taking of pain was a part of life. He would either forgive me, or he would not.

Except that I never got to the "or he would not" part because I wasn't planning on telling him.

Because I was willing to do whatever it took to get what I wanted.

Just like I thought everyone else had been doing all along.

But Emmett hadn't been doing that.

Emmett had been trying to look out for me and not himself.

And he deserved to hear how self-centered and awful I was for not recognizing that sooner.

But before I did that, before I threw away the one relationship that I had made at this school that required very little of me, I had some getting even to do.

Because as much as this was my fault, I was still going to massacre Jackson Whitlock for being such an enormous pig, and pretend that I could pin all of my problems on that stupid, overly smug grin.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Unfortunately, the first place I saw Jax was in the cafeteria.

He was in the middle of a long table, full of influential seniors who were riding high on their last couple of weeks of school. His arm was around some nondescript hottie, and the table was loudly erupting in hoots of laughter and ridicule.

I set my tray down on a random table, already occupied by people who were giving me odd looks, and marched right over, standing as tall as I could as he sat, facing away from me.

The table quieted as I stood there.

Jax expectantly turned around, a cocky smile on his face.

"Should I have brought my nut cup for this little conversation, sweetheart?"

And then I ceased to be Alice.

Ceased to be anything but pumped full of every vitriolic feeling on the face of the plant. Ceased to give a shit that the entire student body, including several teachers who were assigned to monitor us, was watching.

Ceased to care that this was my fault.

He was going to die, and I was going to take immense pleasure in ripping out every single strand of hair in that pretty boy scalp of his.

"How could you? You promised you asshole!" I screeched, fully aware and not giving a flying fuck how cliché and shrill I sounded.

I was literally going to scratch out his fucking eyeballs, followed immediately thereafter by his big, thick dick.

My hand never got a chance to go up before there was a strong arm wrapping itself around my upper chest, effectively pinioning my arms to my sides and pinching me with his hand.

The crowd of seniors chuckled, and I felt Emmett shift his weight away from me, holding me to his side while he dealt with me trying to squirm out of his iron hold.

"Alice…Alice! What the fuck is the matter?" He actually sounded a bit panicked; his usual cool gone in the place of my obvious meltdown.

In response, I kicked Emmett's shin. He grunted a swear word and tried to turn me so he could look at me, but I only increased my struggles.

"Let me go!"

I couldn't look at him.

God, I _couldn't_ look at him.

"Let me the fuck go Emmett!"

I was tempted to lean over and bite him, but I settled for struggling pitifully. I twisted and tried to move him, but his grip only got stronger.

Fucking caveman.

My mantra of "let me the fuck go" was getting more panicked as I fought back hyperventilation and the urge to dissolve in a puddle of fury.

Emmett was still quietly trying to plead with me to calm down.

I closed my ears and let my chants get louder.

But that honey-laced tone just has a way of seeping through, and subsequently setting the entire world on fire with a bit of good humor and enough smugness to suffocate a grizzly bear.

"Wow McCarty, loud one, isn't she? I personally preferred her on her knees, not so much to say then, was there angel-face?"

And then abruptly I was released from Emmett's arms. I put down one hand as I just about toppled, catching myself and trying to upright myself while watching Emmett.

The first blow would no doubt leave an identical shiner to the one Jax had been sporting roughly four months ago. Jax had barely even gotten up from his chair before Emmett has sent him stumbling into the chair and table, jarring the trays and splattering milk cartons with the force of his punch. The trophy girl that Jax had been sitting next to jumped up and upended her entire tray in the process, as the other residents at the table also got up, yelling, some trying to restrain Emmett.

Emmett did not want to be touched. He shrugged off the hands and arms and got right up in Jax's already swelling face. He was slightly bent over, one eyes squeezed shut as he gingerly felt the bruised area around his eye.

"What the fuck did you say to me?"

Jax ignored him, turning slightly and swearing like a sailor at Emmett. I elbowed my way past the crowd and touched Emmett's elbow. He glanced over his shoulder, but I don't think he actually saw me.

His eyes were almost black and he was flushed red, and there was a slight tick at the corner of his jaw as he also shrugged me off and took another step toward Jax, shoving him around to face him.

"What the fuck did you say Whitlock?"

Jax looked up through his one good eye, an ugly smile on his already marred face.

"I said your girlfriend is a _whore_ McCarty. She loved sucking my dick, almost as much as she likes being on her back for me."

"No!" I screamed, but I was too late.

I didn't hear the sounds of the trays hitting the floor, or the sickening sounds of bone hitting flesh, or the grunts and insults thrown. I'm not even sure I said the word out loud, or if I just mouthed it.

Jax got a hit in, but he was no match for a much larger, much angrier Emmett.

I watched in open-mouthed horror as the next punch literally sent Jax into and then over the entire table.

My hearing kicked in just in time to hear his agonized yell of pain as he rolled and tumbled before going still in a heap of limbs on the black and white floor.

I turned to Emmett, who looked to be choking on his rage, he was so angry. His eyes met mine and I put out a hand, but he was already past me, steps heavy and stride long as he stormed away.

Left the cafeteria, left the remains of sloppy Joes and French fries with ketchup all over the floor.

Left all six hundred students staring.

Left me standing there, heart pounding, riddled with guilt.

I turned and found myself staring at three sets of eyes on me.

Rosalie, in shock.

Edward, in disbelief and just the tiniest hint of morbid amusement.

And Jasper, accusing me with a too familiar pair of brown eyes.

I turned away, turned my back on them all, including the asshole on the floor, with students and teachers crowding around him now.

My feet started moving.

I ran after Emmett.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~**~*~

He wasn't in his room. I even used my master key to make sure.

He wasn't in the weight room.

He wasn't on the running path around the lake.

Which meant he was waiting for me. And as I slowly walked up the five flights of stairs, wanting the time it would take to reach my room, I tried to think.

Tried to imagine what I could possibly say.

I ran out of time before a single sentence popped into my head.

Emmett was sitting in front of my door, head in his hands, knees bent as he rested against the paneled door.

I stopped in front of him and he pulled his head up to look at me.

His eyes were bloodshot and red.

He looked like hell.

I leaned over his frame and unlocked the door, letting it swing open.

Emmett, with the kind of grace only a truly large man can have, rose to his feet without using his hands.

He walked in and I followed.

He didn't sit down. Emmett stood in the middle of my converted bedroom and turned slowly, not looking at me.

"You did it."

There was a lump in my throat. Tears were already threatening, but I pushed them back. I was not the victim, why the hell was I crying?

Because of the guilt.

The guilt that was sitting in the back of my throat, choking me, taking away my ability to say anything.

I was a coward.

"I think you did." Emmett said quietly, still staring at his hands. "I've seen..I've seen the way you looked at him before. And I know Jax pretty well. He's a bullshitter, and a bit of an ass, but as far as I know, he's not so stupid that he would keep spewing lies when it means he'd have a broken face for graduation day."

Simple logic. Such simple freaking logic.

I wiped at the invisible tears on my cheeks, feeling them itch as if the tears were actually there. I stared at the wall on the far side of the room, where my desk was sitting, cluttered.

"So you're going to have to say the words Alice, because you did this and I will be goddamned if I move a single foot without hearing why you decided to fuck up everything for me."

I heard the anger, bitten off, in his voice, no matter how calm he was trying to remain. Could feel the remnants of the fury from lunch still sitting on his shoulders, in the stark lines of his body.

"He promised not to say anything about Rosalie and Professor Cullen if I…I didn't have sex with him."

Emmett snorted. "I suppose you went over there to play checkers. Do each other's hair."

I let out a small sob and felt horrible as I tried to rein it in. Shit, I was so weak. I was the cheater, the betrayer, the Judas. Man up Alice. This is your mess. Take some fucking responsibility for your actions.

"I thought I could save Rosalie."

I squeezed my eyes shut and let the traitorous tears slide down, wrapping my arms around myself. Honestly Emmett, can't you see that? Can't you see that I just wanted to save my friend? Please?

But the words were feeble and they would go unvoiced.

Emmett's hands wrapped around my upper arms and I started, eyes opening as I stared into his face, twisted and angry and just…distasteful. Like I was distasteful to even look at.

"You're so fucking stupid Alice. So fucking…that's bullshit. _Bullshit_, do you hear me? Bullshit! Don't give me that crap. Don't pin this on Rose. You've been eye fucking Whitlock since school started and…and I don't even know."

He shook me and I snapped.

"Get your hands off me." I shoved at him and he released me, retreating back a few feet. "Get the fuck off of me you Neanderthal. I don't give a fuck what you think I did with Jax or why I did it. That's the only thing I decided, the only thing.

I sat here for hours, thinking about you and about Rosalie and what would happen if Jax ran his mouth. And all of it doesn't matter one tiny bit because he did it anyway and now my only friend is going to have to leave this hell-ridden place.

I didn't have anything to fight back with! I have NEVER had anything to fight back with, until Rosalie came along. I wouldn't have made it past the first semester before I gave up and went back to Biloxi, Mississippi and settled for living in a trailer park and going to community college. So yes, I got on my knees and I sucked Jackson Whitlock's dick, maybe because I wanted to, maybe because I was worried about Rosalie, but mostly because I was worried about **me**.

And let's be honest, what are the odds that you and I are going to be together six months from now anyway? For a year? I mean, really, what the goddamn odds that you find the person you're going to marry and have babies with at sixteen?

Boyfriends…boyfriends are boyfriends. That's the only way I can describe it. I want you in my life Emmett. But if it comes down to you or Rosalie, well, the odds are more likely that Rosalie and I will be friends long after you and I have broken up or found other boyfriends and girlfriends or whatever. It may not be the thing people say out loud, but that's the thing they think in their heads. So I'm gonna say it out loud. If I left myself vulnerable, if I left myself without someone who is looking out for me from the vulture, what are the fucking odds that I would survive?"

Emmett stared at me, eyes dully red and glassy. He sat down on the loveseat and put his face in his hands.

"How can you…how can—how can you see things like that? How can you believe that Rosalie is your lifeline at Olaf's? How can you stand here in front of me and tell me that if she leaves, there won't be anyone left to be your friend?"

One of the pillows went flying into the wall. I jumped, even though there was hardly a thud.

"You can't promise we'll be together. It doesn't work like that. If we break up…it'll be ugly. And you'll move on and leave me behind."

"I'm not breaking up with you! As far I am fucking concerned, you're leaving me no other option except to break up with you and stop speaking with you! You did this. I have done nothing—_NOTHING_—except try and hang on to you while you dig yourself a deeper and deeper hole."

I stayed silent, feeling like I was going to be sick, feeling like I had the world's worst headache, feeling like I was about to need the Heimlich if I couldn't find a way to breathe soon.

Emmett sat up and looked at me. There was wetness around his eyes, and he was red, and his hair was sticking up everywhere.

"How can you see everything else so clearly? Why can you give Rosalie Hale every benefit of the doubt, every second chance? Why did you have to just go and assume I would be the one who was going to leave you? You are so invested in this charade of building this wall around you, of setting yourself apart so you won't be swallowed up by them. That's fine, I get it. Everyone on the face of the planet has that. But for fuck's sake Alice, how could you think that I would be one of those people you needed to keep out? How the hell do you not see that I am so miserably fucking in love with you that the only way we'd ever break up is if you fucked up. And you did." Emmett's voice cracked. "You fucked up. And now you want me to break up with you? God, I could actually hurt you right now. What the hell did you do to me Alice? How could you? Take some fucking responsibility and say the words. Tell me that this is entirely your fault and that you fucked up because you're done with me."

I took a step toward him, feeling my stomach hit the floor and the sobs come harder. Emmett stood and jerked away, only to turn back and grab me, too hard, too tight.

"You're done with me." He spit the words out, sent them running through my veins and into my heart, which wrenched at the look on his face. "Tell me!"

My head shook and I tensed, not able to look at him any longer.

Emmett shoved me away from him and I stumbled, biting my lip to keep from pleading for him to stay.

He was right. I didn't get to play the victim. Not this time.

Emmett jerked open the door and stopped long enough to push Rosalie out of the way before he walked away from me.

Through the wall of tears that were in my eyes, I saw Rosalie staring at me and I wondered how long she had been eavesdropping at the door.

Probably through the entire thing, if I knew Rosalie.

"Alice…"

"Leave me alone."

I turned my back on her and faced the wall, furiously wiping away the tears.

"No."

And even though I didn't want there to be, even though I didn't deserve it, there were arms around me that were comforting and forgiving and kind. And baby that I was, I gladly collapsed into them and sobbed my pathetic little feelings out, though I deserved to have no release.

Emmett wouldn't have a pair of arms around him.

He wouldn't feel better.

Because of me.

"He loves me." I whispered between hiccups, feeling Rosalie stiffen for the barest of moments before tightening her arms around me more firmly.

"I know." She said simply.


	27. Forks

_A/N: My apologies for being late. I flew out of town for a job interview over the weekend. That being said, this is a 7,000+ word monster, and the last of the RPOV (save except some requested outtakes). _

_I was in awe of the response from last chapter. Such thoughtful and wonderful views and I loved every single one of them. I don't even think there are words to express how wonderful the response was to the climax of my silly little story. Thanks so much._

"_**When you come to the **__**fork**__** in the road, take it**__**"**_

_**~Yogi Berra**_

Chapter 27: Forks

"Miss Hale, I thought we agreed not to meet like this anymore."

Hilarious, Dean Regan.

I half-smiled at his worthless attempt at humor.

"I think you understand why I called you out of class today."

Should I nod? Play ignorant? Not say anything?

Regan's mustache twitched. It was as close as I could get to looking him in the eye.

"I understand that this is a high school Rosalie, and that rumors go hand in hand with the day to day going to class, sitting down at lunch with your friends, and general socializing. I even know, despite students' thinking the administration remains completely oblivious, that some rumors have permanently damaged students' lives, making high school a sentence to be endured, instead of an opportunity to be gained."

I nodded along to his graduate school bullshit, waiting for words like 'pedagogy' and 'intrinsic motivation' to be bandied about with unsuppressed arrogance.

I had no idea where he was going with this, and was tensing for the time in which the bullshit ceased and turned into the matter of a nasty little rumor going around school concerning a certain good-looking teacher and myself. Which, I admit, makes the bullshit so effective.

Misdirection.

Ideals on how a school should run, followed by the 'I'm not so old I don't remember how cruel being a teenager was' speech before getting down to business.

A feeble attempt at softening the blow and maybe softening the person in hopes of getting them to admit t something or snitch on someone else.

Regan was still going.

"...I would hope that you could see how damaging something like this could be to our school."

"Something like what, sir?"

Dean Regan's lips pushed into a flat line.

"I'm sure you are aware that we have had many reports concerning one of teachers being involved with a student. Now usually such pettiness is easily dismissible, but it seems this particular bit of fiction had made the rounds rather rapidly."

"Are you accusing me of something Dean Regan?"

"Absolutely not Miss Hale. I am merely asking if you have heard any of these rumors."

"I have, sir."

"So you're aware that you are the student allegedly having relations with one of our staff members?"

"It's pretty hard to miss being called a whore to my face, sir."

"Language Miss Hale, though I do appreciate your candor. And I hope that you'll appreciate that I am only doing my job when I ask if there is any truth to the rumors that are so widely spread."

Widely spread huh? What did that mean? Were parents calling? Other teachers? News stations?

Who was responsible for this new dimension of hell?

"I appreciate that it's your job to butt into student's lives, whether they want you there or not, but may I ask _sir_, if the teachers were called out of class and questioned like I was?"

And just like that, I had knowingly stepped way out of bounds. The Dean's veins were bulging, so I hurried to amend, "I'm not fucking a teacher Dean Regan."

Regan glared at me until I thought one of his pupils would burst and then sighed and looked down at his desk, picking up his pen to write me a pass.

"Back to class Miss Hale."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The lunch bell rang and the campus was flooded with students. I walked among them, not seeing anyone. Not caring if I ran into someone, although let's be honest.

People weren't going to run into _me_.

I'm Rosalie Hale.

Former reigning social hierarchical queen.

Current outcast and figure of great interest and conversation.

But why was I a figure of great interest again?

Did someone see us?

Who had told?

Had we screwed up somehow, given ourselves away?

Was it because I dropped math class?

Did Esme tell Edward?

Did Alice let something slide?

And where the hell was Alice anyway? She hadn't come in until late last night, and was gone before I woke up.

If she told fucking McCarty and he's the one who couldn't keep his mouth shut, I'd de-ball that over-puffed marshmallow man with a dull spoon.

"Hale! I've got Turner for Government next hour, why don't you tag along? Turner probably hasn't even seen his dick since the eighties!"

"Wow Rosalie, that shade of lip gloss is really great, does Dr. Carlisle like that kind specifically?"

"Whore."

"Slut."

"Cow."

I rolled my eyes. How unoriginal.

I weaved through the students on my way to first period and ignored the unimaginative mutterings of my peers.

If I knew someone was sleeping with a teacher, I'd do more than call them a cow.

I'd find some incriminating evidence and then post it on YouTube for the viewing enjoyment of academic procrastinators everywhere.

Oh right.

I had done that already.

Well, they do say karma's a bitch.

Too bad my parents didn't have the foresight to name me Karma.

"Hale! Glad I caught you. Olaf's is doing a recruitment website for incoming staff and I figured you should be our spokeswoman!"

Ok, so I flipped that asshole off.

Terry Jackson wouldn't get laid until he paid for it. He had no room to talk about my sex life.

"Got any panties on today Rosalie? Or don't you have math on Tuesdays?"

I didn't have math ever anymore, thank you very much.

"Shut the fuck up Adair."

An arm slung itself low on my hips, one hot hand palming my hipbone and hooking into the waistband of my skirt.

Jasper shifted his books to his other arm and glanced down at me.

"Haven't you heard Whitlock? Hale here is boning Professor Cullen. You might want to back away unless you want some pathetic teacher's hand me downs."

Jasper's hand clenched. I imagined his expression must have changed from his usual blank stare to something fierce because Riley Adair's face immediately had "oh shit" written all over it.

"Not that I'd blame you man."

Jasper pulled me tighter and I was forced to raise me head so my face was smothered in his shoulder.

"No, of course you wouldn't. You'd probably burst in your pants if Hale here ever let you put your hands on her, much less do something like this…"

And then Jasper's mouth was slanting across mine and there was warm, spearmint tongue and mine, and one hand on my ass, reaching down to bunch up the fabric so he could slip his hand underneath.

I came up to Jasper's chin. I was just the perfect height to tip my head back and let him make his point.

Let him soothe his ego and let me escape some of the viciousness surrounding me.

And when parted, identical smirks on both our lips, Jasper placed his hand on the back of my neck and pulled me along to lunch.

My eyes caught sight of blonde hair and wide blue eyes as we sauntered past and if it weren't for the steady pressure of Jasper's arm, I would have paused.

He blinked.

Blue eyes went glacial.

Long legs encased in tan with impeccable ironing lines he did himself strode away.

I remembered to breathe.

Slid my hand into Jasper's and he glanced down at me, one eyebrow raised in a sculpted arch.

I flipped my now tousled hair and winked at the gawkers.

I may be an outcast. I may be a seducer of the elderly. Hell, I might even be the girl who's bending over for her teacher for an A.

But I'm still fucking Rosalie Hale.

My hand slid into the back pocket of Jasper's pants.

Stare and point at _that_, bitches.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The upturning of trays and chairs was the first indication I had of serious trouble.

Alice being literally lifted away from Jackson Whitlock by a heaving, furious Emmett was the next. Her shrieks practically echoed in the dining hall, it had gone so still. Even the teachers were sitting there staring like they weren't waiting for a punch line.

All they got was the punch part.

I missed what Jax said, so soft and smooth in all his buttery Texan glory, but I'm sure it would spread like wildfire. Whatever it was, it was fucking stupid. Emmett looked like a pissed off bull, and Jax was clearly waving a red cape all over the pristine black and white tiles.

Even Alice's wailing couldn't drown out the sickening suctioned sound of Emmett's knuckles meeting bone and eye socket.

Jax's chair went skidding and clanking onto the floor, as Jax literally went over the back of the chair and his head bounced a couple times when it collided with the floor. The force of the blow had knocked him into the table, literally moving it askew and sending sloppy Joes and chocolate milk everywhere as the place erupted in a cacophony of noise.

Then, I shit you not, Emmett half threw, half punched Jackson Whitlock, the tenth Whitlock to roam the halls of a school his family helped fund, right over the mother fucking table.

Not that I could blame Emmett.

_Everyone_ had heard quite clearly what Jax had said that time around.

Emmett barreled out, fists bloodied and clenched, and my eyes went to Alice.

"_I said your girlfriend is a __whore__ McCarty. She loved sucking my dick, almost as much as she likes being on her back for me."_

There was no point to picking a fight with Emmett McCarty. Even someone as arrogant as Jackson knew that. So why had he kept inviting McCarty to use his face for boxing practice in the middle of the entire school population?

I glanced at Alice, who was staring after Emmett, looking guiltier than a whore in church on Easter Sunday.

No….

No.

No?

Fuck.

Yes.

Alice couldn't dissemble to save her life.

She turned to me and I could only stare back.

What the fuck had she done?

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

I meant to eavesdrop.

Totally.

I'm too much of a pussy to actually ask Alice if she did what I think she did, and how much of a role I had to play in her apparent decision to fuck Jackson Whitlock.

But I didn't expect the story to just fucking unravel like it did.

_He promised not to say anything about Rosalie and Professor Cullen…_

What the fuck did you do Alice?

_I thought I could save Rosalie._

Alice, don't you know? I'm the senator of Massachusetts's daughter. My mother's side of the family invested in textile factory products after the civil war. My brother is a corporate whiz kid who could model on the side.

I didn't need saving. I didn't need rescuing. I wasn't drowning.

Hell, money was the best flotation device there was.

What the hell did she do?

Fuck over her own life, her relationship, because she thought I wouldn't survive if the rumor got out?

I stopped hearing what was happening behind that door after that.

I had thought of countless things to do or say if anyone had ever found out.

Deny, deny, deny, as previously used on Dean Regan.

Have a beard, as previously used on Jasper Whitlock.

Sleep with the person (I had already proved I could do girl on girl) or blackmail them into keeping quiet.

And there was a very small, very ashamed part of me that told me I could escape all blame and work this entire fiasco out to my benefit if I just claimed I was seduced.

If I pretended to be a sweet, in-love sixteen year old who had been lured by her professor who had purposely failed her to keep her close by, then I would be the victim, and I would get to play the hurt and completely blameless card, followed thereafter by the bitter and resentful bitch, which would allow me some space.

If I blamed it on everyone else, then I would ultimately win. I wasn't proud of that, but I was desperate and had so much to lose.

And instead Alice had taken that choice away from me.

Literally ripped the page out of my playbook and didn't even freaking tell me!

She just went and apparently did the horizontal mambo with Jackson Whitlock.

To save me.

Because she needed my protection, the reputation that her name couldn't inspire in her peers, but mine did so easily.

_Why can you give Rosalie Hale every benefit of the doubt, every second chance?_

Emmett's voice pervaded my thoughts. It had risen to a vibrating roar, full of fury and resentment.

I didn't blame him; after all, he made an excellent point.

As far as friends go, I had been a fairly shitty one. I mean, how many people begin their friendship by staving off an addiction to a lethal drug? How many people get their friends into orgies and sell off their virginities? How many people keep secrets from their friends and ignore them and take up three fourths of the closet space?

How many friends stood outside the hallway and listened to their friend take the fall for them?

How many people withstood that much bullshit for a person who was providing them with a name and a reputation that really didn't even work anymore?

The entire school body, even the teachers, knew it.

I was fallible. Perhaps my insecurities didn't reach the surface as easily as other peoples' did, and perhaps mine didn't exist of a physical nature, but beneath Rosalie Hale, walking fem-bot, I was fallible. And it had showed more than ever this year, despite my best efforts.

Rosalie Hale was a teacher-screwing, break-down having, drugged-out freak. People mocked me on my way to class; people whispered about me in the halls, no one asked if I was going to the party on Friday.

But a sassy, sharp-tongued, overly excitable midget from Biloxi, Mississippi, the anti-pop culture capitol of the world, had somehow seen something worth saving.

Emmett stormed past me, clearly not even seeing me even though he wall-checked me into the doorframe, and I watched Alice stand there, tears streaming down her face.

What the fuck did she do?

For me.

However Alice had chosen to fuck up her life, I refused to feel guilty about. Alice was a big girl; she could make decisions on her own.

Ok, I felt a little bit guilty.

But I also felt like…like a friend.

A friend who wouldn't get pushed away, who wouldn't cede space when it was requested.

I stayed with Alice.

And I tried to remember that there was something about myself that was worth saving.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, after a night of sleeping on a very, very small loveseat, Alice and I quietly and drearily dressed and slowly walked to the cafeteria for the end of year awards ceremony breakfast, held traditionally as a send-off to the graduating class.

In the tried and true blatant self-praising atmosphere of St. Olaf's, every student on campus attended the early morning breakfast, celebrating our Seniors as they transitioned from Olaf's to another prestigious university, if only because it cancelled morning classes so close to the end of the school year.

Edward had been forced to conduct the band as they set up in the corner and played an entrance march for the seniors, and thus was in his band attire, seated with his fellow musicians. Emmett was absent, probably because he was being expelled for attempted to blind Jax Whitlock, and Jasper, in his usual appreciation for all things traditional, had worn an extra large belt buckle and was rolling his pancakes into a cylinder and then pretending to smoke them as he chewed.

Alice and I sat next to Jasper on the ends of the long, rectangular table reserved for sophomores. Alice poked at her quiche and took the occasional sip of tomato juice, clearly not hearing a word anyone said.

After the grand entrance of the staff and seniors, followed by some words of welcome and scholastic pride, they began announcing awards for excellence in the core academic areas, followed by the different elective areas like "Outstanding Musicianship" and "Most Theatrical." Next were the athletic awards.

Alice took a page from Esme's playbook and conveniently dropped her spoon when Jax rose to receive his pin for being captain of whatever that sport is with boats.

And later, when he rose to receive his certificate for being on the student council as a representative of the senior class, her knife also mysteriously dropped.

When he stood again to acknowledge that he had been crowned Homecoming King, her napkin bit the dust.

Finally, when the president of the school board began calling off names of students who had consistently achieved a place on the high honor roll, I put my hand over her fork before it could join the list of casualties.

"You're going to want to save that for dessert. The lemon meringue pie is to orgasm for."

Alice glared balefully and kept staring until Jax has sat back down.

When they finally (an hour later) stopped handing out honors and recognitions, Mrs. Seymour-Overington rose to acknowledge the members of the school board and the board of trustees and then the staff, who were all in attendance.

Now it was my turn to consider dropping a piece of silverware.

She made it to the math department and introduced Dr. Smithson, the department chair, followed by the faculty that comprised the most hated academic subject at Olaf's.

"Mr. Connor Carlisle, who we will be very sad to see leave St. Olaf's at the end of term to pursue a research position with Dr. Leibon at Dartmouth College next fall."

There was a smattering of applause before Mrs. Seymour-Overington could continue naming faculty members.

My own fork dropped to the floor.

It was no accident.

Alice's hand found its way to my arm.

"You okay?"

I nodded, unable to find any satisfactory words that wouldn't expose me as a liar. I couldn't run; not with so much speculation and vicious glee being pointed in my direction. People would be watching me.

I had to react.

I tossed my hair over my shoulder and smiled at Alice, who gave me an unimpressed look before she returned to eating her marshmallow fluff salad, with a fork.

For the next half an hour, until at last we were dismissed, I forced myself to eat every bite of the pie Alice snagged for us. It crawled in my mouth and tasted like crap, but I smiled and made unconvincing "mmmhmm" sounds just the same.

Alice kept the bulk of the conversation going, bubbling over with fake happiness at the thought of four more days of school before break, pulling off a performance I couldn't have imagined her giving, as she bubbled and smiled and practically sang the ends of the words as they floated unthinkingly out of her mouth.

What a liar.

What a feisty, charming little liar she had turned out to be.

And in that, we were a well-matched pair indeed.

We were both dreading the summer. Alice home to Southern Podunk USA, and me to either of my lonely homes with only my mother to keep me company.

Maybe I would call Lucas and see if he would buy me a plane ticket to Miami. My father, upon realizing I had dropped (or flunked as I convincingly lied) Algebra I again, had gone positively chartreuse in the face and cut me off.

I thought about summer and chatted about tans and beaches and boating without conscious thought. It came easy; garbage words easily tossed out, easily thrown away. Bland small talk that I had parroted back for years, small talk Alice couldn't possibly relate to, but nodded and made the correct noises anyway.

Finally the dismissal came, and we sauntered out of the cafeteria and home to Whitlock.

Alice cringed whenever I mentioned the W word, and thus our dorm became 'home'.

Fucking irony. I was calling my school dormitory home when I had a floor all to myself in our house outside of Boston, and my own private balcony attached to my bedroom at our house in the Hamptons.

I reached for my key and inserted it into the lock.

I didn't turn it.

Alice made an impatient noise and came around to my side.

She turned the key for me and opened the door.

I barely made it inside before I was a mess.

Tears. Sniffles. Mucus running down my nose. Pain stabbing me in places that I didn't know pain from a non-physical injury could go.

I curled up in my bed and bit my lip until the tears stopped.

I was so pathetic.

How many times was this going to happen?

It was kinda fucking sad.

No more tears for him.

No more feeling sorry for yourself.

But he's _leaving_.

He's leaving because of me.

Because I was stupid and careless and had a bad day and wanted to feel better, not just the last time, not just the first time. Every fucking time I had a bad day I wanted him to make me better. So I kissed him and fantasized about him, and had sex with him, and undressed him. I did all that, even though I knew I was stepping over the line. Way over the fucking line.

The line was a dot to me.

And now there are consequences.

Consequences that I deserve. So no more weak-ass tears. No more pity-parties. No more letting Alice baby me, even as she stood in the doorway and watched me.

I blinked through watery eyes at her.

She was in pain. I was in pain.

We were a miserable fucking pair.

But it was the first time in my life that I was a pair, that there was someone to be miserable with me, not because of me.

"Class starts in twenty minutes." She said quietly, and I saw her glance to her own bed. We would happily curl up and forget the world outside if we were able.

But instead we must be brave little toasters and face the world outside.

Face a world without Emmett. Without Carlisle.

She held out her hand.

I pushed myself off my bed and went with her.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Even though it was only a partial day, it dragged on forever. When the day was finally over, I walked to my locker, where Jasper and Alice are waiting, discussing something idly, with Alice occasionally reaching down to check her phone as if it would magically ring or beep.

As if Emmett would magically forget yesterday had ever happened.

"Hey." Alice greeted me with a small smile. Jasper just looked at me, and his head bobbed twice in acknowledgement of my presence.

I tried to smile and failed, instead going about the mundane task of exchanging one set of books for another, and we began a somber walk across campus. We cut across the parking lot to avoid stepping on the soggy ground, when suddenly he was _there_, heading for his car.

He was fussing with his tie, his jacket nowhere to be seen with the sun shining as brightly as it was. His shoulder bag was bouncing with his stride, probably full of student papers to grade. He was squinting, with no sunglasses to shield his eyes, and his keys were dangling from his right hand.

Too soon.

Oh dear lord, too, too _soon_.

"Rose?" Alice asked quietly.

I had stopped. My feet had literally stopped moving as I watched him unlock his doors and toss his bag into the passenger seat. It wasn't even four yet; he was leaving early. Probably because he wanted to enjoy the weather, but more likely because he didn't have to wait until most of the staff left for the day before he could sneak me home and into his bed.

Jasper's hand slid, warm, on my arm.

"Rosalie."

I glanced at him, but he was following my gaze, the fixation of my trance, watching as Professor Cullen slid into the car and slid on a pair of tan-tinted sunglasses.

Alice's hand slid into mine and squeezed reassuringly.

Jasper's brown eyes studied me carefully, blankly.

No speculation, no judgment, even though he was clearly aware of what he had just witnessed.

Too soon. Too soon. Too soon. Too soon. Too soon.

I took a shaky breath in and abruptly ripped away from the human contact, turning on heel and going back in the direction I had just come, running across the sodden ground, sinking a little bit more with each step, covering my four hundred dollar shoes in mud and slosh and grass.

I didn't stop until I had reached the third floor of the tragically Goth music arts hall and had to fumble through my keys to find the right one.

The door swung open and shut with hardly a thud.

I turned the lock this time.

Kicking off my shoes and my jacket and tie, I climbed on top of the baby grand and laid on my back, hands clutching the material at my sides, toes lingering above the keys.

Too soon.

Leaving.

Kisses.

Touches.

Mistakes.

All winding back to the welcome back banquet to kick off the start to a new year at St. Olaf's last September first.

The way I had watched him sit between his older, much more distinguished colleagues, the glance he had directed at me over dessert, warning and wary, like I was the hunter and he the hunted.

Like he knew I hadn't heard a word of the welcoming address, or tasted a single bite of my meal because I was too busy watching him.

Too busy drinking him after a summer that lasted an eternity without that privilege.

Carlisle had caught me staring. Several times.

He had caught me by the elbow as I was walking back to Whitlock.

"_Are you alright?"_

_I smiled at him, my flirtiest, all lips and cheekbones smile. "Of course."_

"_You're too thin. I thought you promised me you were going to stop—"_

"_I did." I protested. And I had. I had gone through hell, feeling nausea and shaky and weak and pathetic. All alone. All summer long._

_His jaw clenched, his lips thinned. "I don't believe you."_

"_Don't I look like hell?" _

"_You look beautiful, as you well know."_

"_But like beautiful hell, right?" I tucked a limp piece of recently dyed hair behind my ear and smiled winningly. Not that the dye-job had done much to conceal how dead my hair looked. Not even all the make-up could hide the hollows beneath my eyes and the too sharp point of my chin. _

_Not all the fake-smiling in the world could cover up how pitiful I looked when I dared to look in the mirror. _

_Carlisle didn't answer. He just smiled deprecatingly to himself and walked away._

_My smile disappeared as I watched him._

_He didn't believe me._

_I sat down on one of the memorial benches and stared at the space where he had just been, looking for all the world like he felt like a fool._

_Didn't he know I was the fool? The stupid girl who had gotten tied up in so many poisonous things? _

_The idiot who dreamed of being with her math teacher? The one who only wanted to be worthy of that kind of man?_

"_Rosalie Hale."_

_I cringed._

_Past mistakes coming back to haunt me in the form of my ex-boyfriend and dealer, and his posse of stoners._

"_Why the pouty puss, puss?" Spencer asked, sprawling out next to me and smiling charmingly. "Welcome back to the party!"_

_Royce was eyeing me._

"_You didn't call." _

_I didn't answer either._

"_If you needed a hit you could have called." Before you let yourself get like this, I could hear the thought echoing around his empty head._

_I shrugged and pushed Spencer off of me. _

"_Wicked party in West Ealing, lots of people who love to fawn all over you." Royce continued, ignoring my continued silence._

_Spencer fake-fawned and bowed and twisted, to much laughter and slurred ridicule. _

"No? Well, we need to go if we're going to catch a ride. Here." A small bag fell into my lap, with not even enough dust to get me going properly. Just enough to give me a taste, to send my body craving the one thing I had been denying it. "Welcome back Rosalie."

And now I laid in the same spot, clutching myself in the same way, just trying to keep myself from falling to pieces.

I was weak. I had been weak then, and now I was weak all over again.

The lock turned with an audible thump. I opened my eyes and found unimpressed green eyes staring dispassionately at me.

"That piano is worth more than you are; please get your teaching-fucking ass off of it."

Jesus.

Did karma really have to come back to kick my ass all in one day?

I reluctantly sat up.

"Fuck you Edward. I'm having a moment here."

Edward, being perhaps one of the prettiest people I know, myself notwithstanding, was every inch the guy when he rolled his eyes and yanked me off the piano.

I landed with a grunt.

God help the female who ever takes the remote control away from him.

"So you're up here what? Mourning the loss of one of your many fuck buddies?"

"Fuck another public school whore Cullen, maybe that will help you get over your need to not be perfect while still being exactly that."

"Oh, and now you're speaking to me again huh? Well, look in the goddamn mirror Rosalie. You and I are cut from the same exact cloth."

"Which is why it would be like fucking your sister if we were together, you twat!"

I clamped my mouth shut.

Edward paled and his eyes widened just a little.

Well.

It could have been worse.

I could have painted "I don't love you and I'm making this clear by screwing someone who is illegal for me" on the side of a building.

Edward's jaw was moving methodically back and forth in its socket, which was kind of freaking me out. I shifted my weight and looked out the window. With the gigantic piano already taking up three fourths of the space of the stuffy practice room, there was literally nowhere to go.

He was blocking the door.

And his hair was sucking up all the goddamn oxygen.

"Did Alice tell you?"

Um, what?

Alice knows?

Was she also hiding Jimmy Hoffa somewhere in our room?

"Your friendly little fuck from town bumped into me." I muttered. Then I watched in amazing as Edward Cullen flushed and looked away, yanking on his much-glorified sex hair like it had done something worth punishing.

"Bella." It was an accusation and a sigh of exasperation all at once.

"Uh-huh. Bella. Alice. Esme. Everyone is just lining up to tell me how in love you are with me. Everyone except you, Edward."

"I wouldn't tell you that even if you threatened to set my tongue on fire."

"Now you wouldn't. Of course not now. I've disgraced myself and I'm screwing around with a teacher and my reputation is shot to shit. You wouldn't throw me a life jacket if I were drowning in the Agean."

What the fuck? The Agean? Where the hell did that come from?

"How the hell would you know what I would do? You've been so busy having everyone thinking you're fucking the three of us simultaneously and then sneaking off with…with him that you haven't the faintest idea what the fuck I've been doing while you were panting like a bitch in heat for your teacher."

"Like you would have been there with a quart of ice cream and an mp3 full of bluesy music to commiserate over? We've never been close Edward; why the fuck would you expect me to go to you of all people about this, when I didn't even tell Alice?"

She had caught us making out like teenagers after curfew.

Wow. I was pretty bad at the whole sneaking around thing.

"Because you knew I…I felt that way! It's only common courtesy! Decency. Politeness. It's cruel to go around letting people think you're available when you are _not_. I know you aren't exactly the most sensitive person to other peoples' feeling Rosalie, but would it have really ruined your ego to have put me out of my misery? Did I have to find out through the rumors going around school?"

"Like you didn't know I didn't return those feelings."

Harsh, harsh, harsh. Too harsh.

"Of course I knew! It's not like I'm following you around and complimenting how well you mix and match your Prada with your Gucci! But out of respect for the fact that we've known each other and at least stayed away from destroying one another for this many years, couldn't you have at least have the common decency to let me know firsthand? To not make Alice be your human shield?"

Alice again?

"I didn't tell Alice to do anything! Alice is her own person and she makes decisions on her own, not based on anything I do or say!"

We were screaming at each other, inches apart and both beet red.

It was a good thing these rooms were sound-proof, though I doubted they were built with this purpose in mind.

"Of course Alice steps in and tries to help you! Of course she makes those decisions for you! She's the only person you'll let in close enough to try and help you. Right or wrong, whether or not she should be letting you fuck this up on your own, she knows she is the only person who has your best interest in mind. You're so goddamn set on destroying yourself you wouldn't know what a friend looks like if I danced around you naked in the shower."

I paused. Rage was flooding me, but something was off. Who wouldn't I recognize naked in the shower?

"Are you implying that we are friends? That somehow, between you blackmailing me into a threesome and me using you to hide my illegal affair with a teacher, that fucked up little equation equals friend?"

Edward's arms went out in an epic gesture of supreme frustration, and the music folder he had been holding exploded with papers, smacking me in the face and showering off white and black sheets all around us.

"I would have had your back. Alice has your back. Esme had your back. Fuck, even Emmett would have backed you. _Dean Regan_ has been looking for a reason all year to find a way to help you, but you won't tell him what the problem is! How the fuck can't you see that, and what the hell is the matter with you that you just won't let us try and _help_ you?"

His jaw clenched.

Mine hung open.

The rustle of paper from the breeze out of the open window was the only thing I could hear, other than his heavy breathing from yelling at me.

"You don't want to help me. You've never wanted to help me. Associate with me, fuck me, flirt with me, own me, but never help me. I'm Rosalie Hale. I'm the girl everyone hates because my life has been perfect and I've still found a way to fuck it up. I'm gorgeous and rich and I do the choosing when it comes to my friends. I've been this way since I was in second grade. Anything I get, I deserve."

Edward put a hand over his eyes and tilted his head back. It appeared that he was counting to ten, self-righteous fucker.

"Rosalie. Anything you get, you've brought on yourself. And if you truly believe any of the crap that you just spewed, then it's no wonder you went after Professor Carlisle. You do _not_ get to pick. This is not one of those shops you love to go on spending binges in. We are not fabrics and clothes that you can purchase and return. We do some of the choosing too. And you seem completely unaware of the fact that at the start of this school year, we said yes to sex and to fucking the system, but Emmett, Alice, and I, we also said yes to you. You are someone I have known for a long time. And even knowing about the drugs and the boys and the teachers-"

"Teacher. One. Singular." I objected and he glared.

Freaky-eyed menace.

"…teacher. I'd still say yes if you asked me tomorrow to help you fuck over some of our more annoying classmates. I'd still hack into the server and send out damaging YouTube clips, and sure, I'd still have sex with you. I wouldn't do all that…except maybe that last one, if I didn't consciously choose you. You may have set up this whole fucked up fiasco, but we said yes. We want to have your back."

They want to be my friend.

I wasn't letting them.

I had convinced myself that they saw me as only a sex-bot, as only a drama-maker. I had convinced myself no one saw me.

So I had gone running, with my resentment at those people in hand, to Carlisle.

And we all know how that turned out.

Just like today.

Instead of letting Alice, letting Jasper help me, I ran off.

I ran backwards, instead of running forwards to someone.

Which had gotten me into this mess at the beginning of the school year, over eight months before.

Hadn't I learned anything?

Edward was now sitting on the piano bench, fingers still and quiet on the ivory keys. He wasn't looking at me. There didn't seem to be anymore to say.

And so I left, quite possibly for the first time in my life, without getting the last word.

~*~~*~*~*~*~*~*

I felt heavy.

Weighted down by too much.

Simply too much.

Too much to list, too much to analyze, too much to even speak about.

Even my tongue was heavy and quiet, just like my footsteps as I watched my feet put one foot in front of the other all the way back to Whitlock Hall.

And then there were another pair of feet, standing in front of my door, right next to mine.

Brown leather shoes. Neatly tied laces. A scuff mark of two near the toe, but soft and glossy without being ostentatiously shiny.

I knew the owner of those shoes.

Of the tan pants with their impeccable cut and lines that were attached.

I looked up.

He was standing in front of my door.

My dorm room door.

Professor Connor Carlisle, graduate of Dartmouth College, was standing in front of the door leading to my dorm room, on the fifth floor of the all sophomore girls' dormitory during peak dining hours in which anyone could walk out of their rooms and see him.

My expression must have read quite accurately because he smiled and motioned for me to get my key out.

I didn't. My brain was screaming at me not to. The rest of me was warm and tingly and enjoying the thought of being in my bedroom.

"What are you doing?"

Carlisle's face stayed carefully composed.

"I came to talk to you about the rumors."

"I didn't start them." Fucking Jackson…

"I know that." He smiled; amused that I would think he would think such a silly thing.

I felt young.

"People can see you."

"Everyone's at dinner."

"They'll be coming back."

"Which is why you had better let me in."

"Right."

I fumbled and dropped my key once before I managed to open it. Carlisle went in without waiting for me first, which was quite out of character for him, but I suppose it was in the interest of discretion.

Pschaw. Discretion. He was in my dorm room!

"I didn't actually come about the rumors. More so about why I won't be coming back to Olaf's next fall." He turned in the sitting room, eyeing Alice's neat pile of books. I wondered where my roommate had gotten to. Hopefully she wasn't thinking I would turn up at supper.

"You should have told me."

_It's only common courtesy! Decency. Politeness. It's cruel to go around letting people think you're available when you are not. I know you aren't exactly the most sensitive person to other peoples' feeling Rosalie, but would it have really ruined your ego to have put me out of my misery? _

Oh.

Well that was lovely.

Now I was relating to Edward Cullen of all people.

I shook the thought out of my head.

"I'm sorry I didn't. I thought…after you dropped my class, I didn't get asked to leave or decide to go when those rumors started Rosalie. After I found out you dropped my class I handed in my letter of resignation. I also took the liberty of destroying your drop sheet before the registrar could see it. So technically you are still in my class and you will be receiving an A in Algebra I for the school year. In all of this, I need to remember that your education is still the most important piece to this jigsaw. And I can see that I'm making things more difficult for you. I didn't mean to, and Mr. Cullen Senior was right when he said that there are bigger and better opportunities out there for me. It's simply the right time to leave all of this behind and seek them out."

Before I caused him to lose his career.

Before I threw away my own before I ever had one.

I nodded mutely. At least I had gotten an explanation. That was more than most people got when their person breaks up with them.

And that's what he was, all year. Not my lover, not my boyfriend. He was just a man, just a person.

He couldn't be more than that, no matter how hard I tried to make him be more.

"Okay." I whispered hoarsely. "Thanks…for the A."

I walked by him, hurrying to my room before the tears could start, again.

This was how we were going to end it. With formalities and explanations.

I could accept that.

He grabbed my elbow and pulled me around.

Suddenly the blue wasn't so placid. Suddenly the face wasn't so serene.

Suddenly all formality was gone.

"Rosalie, I—"

It is perhaps one of the greatest and cruelest tricks of irony that I will never know exactly what Carlisle was about to say. That I will never know if I would had the strength to pull away, even though I think I remember trying to pull my arm out of his grasp.

And once again the decision was ripped from me, without my having any say in it whatsoever; this time by the piercing, ear-drum paining sound of the fire alarm going off in Whitlock Hall.

I made a run for it, putting my hands over my ears and racing down five flights of steps until I could breathe the fresh air again.

Carlisle did not follow. And when I returned to my room after it had been announced as a false alarm, he was gone.


	28. i sing of olaf

A/N: With a little less time than normal this week, I am posting the first half of what will be the final "chapter" to The Elite. Part 2 will go up, at the latest, on Wednesday, and the epilogue will go up on Friday.

_**Chapter 28: I sing of olaf…**_

_XXX_

_i sing of Olaf glad and big_

_whose warmest heart recoiled at war:_

_a conscientious object-or_

_his wellbelovéd colonel(trig_

_westpointer most succinctly bred)_

_took erring Olaf soon in hand; _

_but--though an host of overjoyed _

_noncoms(first knocking on the head _

_him)do through icy waters roll _

_that helplessness which others stroke_

_with brushes recently employed _

_anent this muddy toiletbowl, _

_while kindred intellects evoke _

_allegiance per blunt instruments--_

_Olaf(being to all intents_

_a corpse and wanting any rag _

_upon what God unto him gave) _

_responds,without getting annoyed _

_"I will not kiss your fucking flag"_

_straightway the silver bird looked grave_

_(departing hurriedly to shave)_

_but--though all kinds of officers _

_(a yearning nation's blueeyed pride) _

_their passive prey did kick and curse_

_until for wear their clarion _

_voices and boots were much the worse, _

_and egged the firstclassprivates on_

_his rectum wickedly to tease _

_by means of skilfully applied_

_bayonets roasted hot with heat--_

_Olaf(upon what were once knees)_

_does almost ceaselessly repeat_

_"there is some shit I will not eat"_

_our president,being of which_

_assertions duly notified _

_threw the yellowsonofabitch_

_into a dungeon,where he died_

_Christ(of His mercy infinite)_

_i pray to see;and Olaf,too_

_preponderatingly because_

_unless statistics lie he was_

_more brave than me:more blond than you._

_~e.e. cummings_

I hadn't even been sitting in first period for fifteen minutes two days after the incident in the cafeteria when it came.

Ping. The overhead intercom alerted us.

"Yes?"

"Alice Brandon to the front office please."

"You may go Miss Brandon."

I had been expecting this yesterday. Then again, Wednesday had been a chaotic, busy day, with the senior awards brunch, the false fire alarm, and so many important people on campus.

I picked up my books, ignoring the talking that had picked up the name had been said. It's not like we all didn't know why I was going to the office anyway.

I wasn't that girl who got called down to the office on her birthday because her boyfriend sent flowers or because her parents had arranged to have her new car placed right outside of school with a bright, shiny bow on it.

I wasn't that girl at all.

I was the girl who slept with a guy who had proven to be untrustworthy and just plain spiteful. I was a girl who was too enamored of the bad guy, the dangerous guy, the guy all the girls wanted. I was the girl, upon feeling desired by said guy, who promptly threw away all common sense and hurt the boy who was none of the above-stated things and all of things that would never result in my being called down to the office for fighting, cursing, or causing a very embarrassing scene in the middle of five hundred of my peers.

I trudged to the central admin building, and then trudged to the back hallways where students disappeared to be chastised and punished. I was in no hurry to be read the riot act.

I knocked on Dean Regan's door, the frosted faux glass making it unable to see if he was busy or even in there with the door closed.

"Come in Miss Brandon."

Ah, he was expecting me. Terrific.

I opened the door and kept my grip on it as it opened, letting it lead me into his taupe-colored office, with its equally unoffending and boring carpet.

I blinked.

I blinked twice.

There were four chairs sitting in front of the Dean's desk, three more than the last time I had been in here.

There were also three other bodies occupying those chairs, and three pairs of eyes that turned to watch me enter.

Well, Emmett's swung back around to face the wall the minute ours connected. He was practically bursting out of the narrow chair, arms crosses as he sat upright tensely, not a scratch on him.

Next to him Jasper slouched in an exaggerated fashion, his knees wide and feet pressed up against the front of the Dean's perfectly polished desk. He raked an untidy hand to his head and pushed some of his wildly curling hair behind an ear, yawning sleepily.

To Jasper's right was Rosalie, legs crossed high at the knee as she leaned back in her chair, which was unusually out of character for her when confronting figures of authority. I expected her to be sitting upright, ankles crosses and tucked under the chair neatly, full of wide-eyed innocence.

Next to Rose was the remaining empty seat. My seat, amongst them. My chair of doom, for all the rules I had broken.

But why were we all here together? And what the hell has Jasper done?

I carefully sank into my chair on the end of our little row of troublemakers, keeping my knees and ankles uncrossed and clenched together, placing my hands flat on my thighs.

Rosalie glanced and me and gave me a look that said she didn't know what was going on either.

Jasper was rubbing one of his eyes, clearly having been woken up from his first hour nap.

Emmett was studiously pretending the three of us didn't exist. His hands were in fists on his lap.

"I do expect that you all know why you've been called down here this morning. And I must say that I am extremely disappointed that at a time when we are celebrating our students' achievements, I should have to deal with such blatant defiance of the rules. Fighting. Destruction of school property. Inappropriate public displays of affection."

Public display of a what?

My head snapped to my left just in time to see Jasper's lips twitch into a full on smile before it disappeared behind a very fake cough.

Even Rosalie was smirking a bit, head tilted as she tried to appear to be paying attention.

My jaw dropped open. Dean Regan's sharp beetle eyes forced me back to my previous, somber pose.

I was definitely going to have to ask Rose about that when we got ourselves expelled.

"I called you all down at the same time because I am aware of the bond the four of you share, and I am hoping to put an end to all of this….misconduct."

I could have sworn the good Dean was about to say 'bullshit' and then caught himself.

"Mr. Whitlock, Jackson Whitlock that is, has decided not to press charges for assault, physical or otherwise." His eyes pointedly went to me. "However I want it known and known well that St. Olaf's does not tolerate such foolishness and stupidity. Your actions, Miss Brandon, and certainly yours Mr. McCarty are the antithesis of what I expect from students at St. Olaf's. We expect our students to use their heads and not their fists, and to find a peaceful way to resolve conflicts. The spectacle the two of you created is an embarrassment of two individuals who are too talented to revert to such petty means, just as much as it is embarrassing to the school itself."

Ouch.

"Mr. McCarty you have already been banned from boxing club permanently, and because there are no athletic events for the remainder of this school year, you will miss the first three football games of next year, as clearly stated in the handbook as punishment for a Level I referral."

I cringed for Emmett. One more thing to feel guilty about.

"And Miss Brandon, you will also be written up on Level I offenses and the both of you will spend the remainder of the school year serving an in-school suspension. Unfortunately Miss Brandon, should the foundation wish to do so, they would be within their contractual rights to revoke your scholarship. Perhaps next time, it would be wise for you to consider your actions before starting a riot."

I swallowed audibly. The Dean didn't miss a beat. Even high on his horse, oozing patronizing disappointment in us, he had hit the nail right on the head.

I had caused the trouble this time; I needed to understand the consequences.

Rosalie cleared her throat and I glanced at her. Her face was fierce and clearly pissed off.

It said, 'you aren't going anywhere.'

Down the line even Jasper was showing some slight signs of annoyance that the Dean would stoop so low as to threaten my scholarship.

I hazarded a glance at Emmett and did a small double take.

There was a full-out scowl on his face, and his eyes were burning vicious holes into the side of Dean Regan's head.

And something deep in my stomach said that his look—that white-hot fury—was for me and not for himself.

They all wanted me to stay. Even Emmett

That gave me enough extra confidence to sit up a little straighter and keep my eyes trained on Dean Regan and affect an air of carelessness.

The Dean's mustache twitched.

"As you for Mr. Whitlock, your actions, as well as Miss Hale's are outside of the student handbook altogether, but that does not mean that we will tolerate such…such"

"Groping?" Rosalie idly asked.

"Sucking face?" Jasper suggested.

The Dean turned a bright shade of pink.

"I understand from several teachers who witnessed the event-" Rosalie went stock still next to me, her jaw audibly clamping shut, "-that Miss Hale was being provoked with several inappropriate verbal slurs, but that does not give you, either of you, the right to respond in kind or to demonstrate any such actions on school grounds."

Wow. Who knew the Dean could blush that color? Not that I blame him. I'm sure when he took this job he thought he would be helping kids find their paths in life, not giving safe sex talks and reprimanding exhibitionists and brawlers.

"Your responses were completely inappropriate and so you two will also—"

He stopped as I felt the breeze from the door being swung open. It thumped mutely against the wall.

"What can I do for you Mr. Cullen?" The Dean's voice was a bit strained and overly polite. Probably hiding his distaste for Edward, who was largely known to get away with everything, including seducing the Dean's own secretary into "losing" Edward's attendance records.

"I'm supposed to be here sir."

Jasper had swung around and had one arm hanging over the back of his chair as he watched Edward and the Dean converse like it was an entertainment event. He certainly looked amused.

Rosalie was blatantly not looking at Edward, but was chewing on her bottom lip, a sure sign she was deep in thought, wondering what the hell Edward was doing.

She wasn't the only one.

Emmett was staring at me.

Those eyes were now focused on me, across the laps of Jasper and Rose, fixated on my face.

I stared back, unsure of why he was looking.

He looked pissed.

He looked hurt.

He looked like I had stomped all over him and he couldn't believe it.

I let him look.

The Dean's next words took both of our attentions back to the mini-drama that was unfolding with the sudden appearance of Edward.

Was he here to bail us out?

Had he worked some of his magic and figured a way to clear us?

I rolled my eyes at myself. By doing what? Going back and time and not having me flake out in the middle of the cafeteria?

By hypnotizing everyone with his super white teeth and blazing green eyes into forgetting Emmett throwing Jax over a table?

"I didn't send for you Edward."

"Regardless sir, I'm supposed to be here."

The Dean sighed. Loudly. "And why is that?" Although, from the narrowed look on the Dean's face, he looked like he had a pretty good idea of why Edward would suddenly decide to turn up at the central headquarters for naughty students.

"I pulled the fire alarm last night in Whitlock hall sir."

All four of us turned to gape, Rosalie gasping and nearly knocking the chair over as she stood and stared.

I stared too; Rosalie had told me about the Pervfessor having the balls to show up in a girls' dormitory. I had stared at her as she described the fire alarm going off and Dr. Carlisle disappearing into thin air by the time she got back.

The fire alarm that had possibly prevented yet another crisis from arising in the life of Rosalie Hale.

The fire alarm that Edward had conveniently decided needed to go off mere minutes after Dr. Carlisle disappeared behind a locked door with my best friend.

I grinned; I couldn't even help it.

The clever bastard. That wonderful, clever bastard.

The Dean looked at Rosalie for the briefest of seconds and then turned back to Edward. I cautiously reached over and grabbed her hand, tugging it until she took the hint and sat back down.

Dean Regan looked…flummoxed. Stunned. Shocked stupid certainly. Edward Cullen, who had broken into every building, hacked into the computer system, skipped class and never had it marked, and generally did whatever the hell he wanted, was admitting to something. Small wonder the Dean was having a hard time focusing. His mouth opened and then closed, opened and then closed. Opened.

"And _why_ did you do this?"

Edward shrugged, rolling his head to the side in a very casual attempt to sneak a peek at Rosalie and me. He smiled that crazy hot grin of his and looked the Dean square in the eye.

"I feel like the administration does not take the safety procedures seriously enough at this school, and therefore does not prioritize the safety of its students. Sir." Edward added graciously.

The Dean rubbed his temples. He retreated behind his desk, sitting in his swivel chair and hitting the intercom button.

"Sophie, we'll need another chair please."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In the end, Emmett and I were condemned to life in ISS for the remaining week and two days, beginning immediately. Even our lunches would be taken in silence with the supervising teacher.

Edward, Rosalie, and Jasper were spending the rest of the school week in ISS as well, but would return to their regular classes for the finals next week. Edward would be written up with an official warning just like Emmett and I, whereas Rosalie and Jasper got away with no permanent marks on their files.

We were led by Miss Cope (who graced Edward with a small smile of appreciation) to one of the empty electives rooms that weren't in use, and where separated carrels lined the walls of the room.

Mr. DuBois, one of the Wellness teachers, was already sitting behind the teacher's desk.

Apparently we were the only delinquents in session today.

We were forced to sit at least one carrel away from the next person and were reminded in a rough, smoker's voice that there was "absolutely no talking." There was also no sleeping, gum chewing, music-listening, drawing, or staring off into space.

School work was our only option.

Dubois barked at Jasper for tapping his pen. He practically growled at Rosalie when her heels clacked too loudly as she went to sharpen her pencil. He made a gruff comment about my blue hair and he threw his newspaper at Emmett when he fell asleep on top of his science book.

Only Edward it seemed could live in complete silence, the lucky bastard.

I personally, did not _do_ silence.

And as though Edward had heard that thought, he turned to me and gave me a smile.

I reluctantly smiled back.

Dubois barked at me to turn the heck around.

I did so, still smiling.

The five of us counted the minutes until 3:30.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Emmett literally ran out of the room when the bell rang.

Encouraging.

Edward wasn't far behind Emmett, though I saw him practically conducting a symphony with his fingers during sixth hour, so I'm sure he was heading for the practice rooms.

Jasper winked at me and asked Rosalie (quite loudly) if she wanted to have some 'completely inappropriate' reactions out on the benches by the lake. Rose flicked him in the forehead and asked me if she would see me at dinner. I shook my head claiming the need for (more) studying, and she and Jasper disappeared out the door as well.

I sequestered myself into the library for an hour before I couldn't stand it and headed for the dorm.

I enjoyed the early May sun as I walked, smiling as I thought about the five of us in Dean Regan's office, sitting there as our punishments were doled out, not a single one of us sorry, not a single one of us not willing go down for another.

Even Edward, who had turned himself in, even though he would have easily gotten away with it.

Because he would rather sit in silence all day with us, than be one of Them.

I grinned to myself.

That grin abruptly died as I approached the front doors.

Jackson was sitting on the bench outside of his ancestor's building, head down, playing with the ends of his tie in his hands.

He glanced up at me, and I swallowed a gasp.

"I won't be winning any beauty pageants on graduation day, will I?" Jax grinned deprecatingly. This time my gasp could not be hidden. Emmett had knocked out one of Jackson's teeth.

"Guess you got what you deserved." I said as coolly as possible. He had on sunglasses—aviators—and I could only imagine what those dark lenses were concealing. One hell of a shiner for sure.

Jackson shrugged and unfolded his lean body, pushing himself up lazily to stand. One of his fingers was swollen and taped to another; probably as a result of attempting to punch Emmett.

"Technically you never said I had to keep my mouth shut about _us_, sweetheart."

And then the bastard grabbed my hand.

As in, held it.

Jackson Whitlock was holding my hand, after he had told my boyfriend I sucked his dick and ratted out Rosalie's affair with a teacher.

He squeezed my hand before I could rip it away, not that that stopped me from trying.

"I didn't tell anybody about Hale, if that's why you were jawing at me the other day."

I snorted through my nose, making one of the least attractive sounds the body can produce. And if I could have, I would have farted on that son of a bitch too.

"So those rumors just magically began to swarm less than twenty-four hours after you caught them macking in a math classroom?"

Jackson shrugged. "If Hale is stupid enough to mack on a teacher in a classroom, then probably someone else saw them."

"We were the only two people in the hallway."

"That time. Who knows how often Dr. Carlisle feels the itch to plow one of his students in broad daylight?"

"Or you're Satan with a tan who deliberately fucked me over."

Jesus. Rule number one of dealing with a guy you slept with out of loyalty and concern for a friend. Don't mention fucking or any derivative thereof while currently being held hostage.

Jackson's eyes dipped to my mouth and I could literally see his breathing pick up.

I pulled my hand away in a sudden jerk and began walking to the front doors.

All the air in my body was crushed out of me in one incoherent exclamation as Jax hip-checked me into the glass and metal door.

My side was pressed up against the door and his arm looped through mine, holding it tightly.

His eyes were burning like kerosene when I caught my breath and straightened.

"I. Didn't. _D__o_ it."

His hand slipped into mine again.

"Why would I fuck you over like that? I want you on your back screaming my mother fucking name Alice, so why would I deliberately rat our your best friend? Not to mention, I don't even have a problem with Hale. If she wants to fuck teachers or senior citizens, or whoever, good for her."

He lied like the archangel. And he was fucking holding my hand again. Staring at me, even behind those ridiculously hot glasses I could tell he was staring me in the face, and that was so entirely serious and out of character, except that fucking mouth of his…

Stop it.

This is how you fucked things up the first time.

I pushed him away; raising the hand he was still holding and using all three of our hands to shove at his chest. He reluctantly let go.

"So instead of ratting out my best friend, you instead decided that my boyfriend would be a better target, even though I didn't clarify well enough that my sucking your dick was just as much of a secret as Rosalie screwing the professor?"

Jax shrugged and I was getting really pissed at seeing my own reflection in those damn mirrored glasses.

"I want you. You had a boyfriend. Key word: had. I removed the problem."

My mouth hung open.

Oh dear Jesus, tell me he did not just say that.

He removed the…

He removed the problem?

HE was the problem!

Him and his accent and his plaid shirts that are hideously and simultaneously hot, him and his unfiltered dirty mouth, him and his Crest-perfect teeth, him and his golden happy trail that led past lean hips.

"You fucked up my life because you wanted to bang me some more?"

He at least had the sense to start looking slightly alarmed, his eyebrows shooting up. I could practically see the wheels turning in his head.

"It's not like that angel-face. Sweetheart. Alice!" He moved in front of me when I tried to walk past him into the dorms. "I told you…I want more. More than some sloppy blowjob because you're trying to stop Hale from becoming the reverse case of Mrs. Robinson. More than you getting out of my bed before I had the chance to thoroughly and properly fuck you until we both need a shower. More than you running off crying to McCarty and accusing me of being the big bad wolf in front of the whole school. I don't give a fuck if the entire school wants to bag on me for nailing McCarty's leftovers, of for stealing you from right under his none-too-smart nose. I don't give a fuck if the entire school wants to say I'm pussy-whipped and pathetic. I just want _more_."

I stared at him. Took in the twisting of his long fingers and the tight, slightly embarrassed line of his mouth. The scuff of his shoes, and the new highlights in his hair. I reached up and pulled off the glasses, wincing at the double shiner he was sporting. Took in the pleading in those eyes.

Thought about another pair of brown eyes that had looked me in the face today.

Handed Jax back his shades and dug my keys out of my pocket.

I glanced back at him as he let me pass, let me get to the door and open it.

"No."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Rosalie was upstairs in the room, looking out the window and staring out at the lake quietly, with her headphones in her ears.

I tugged one out. She turned to look at me.

"Jax didn't say anything about you and Carlisle. Someone else knows."


	29. Redemption

"_**In love, it is better to know and be disappointed, than to not know and always wonder."**_

Chapter 29: Redemption

The world does not stop turning just because you are stuck at a standstill.

The weather does not change just because you are in a grumpy mood.

Things that are genuinely worth smiling about will make you smile, even if your boyfriend has dumped you for cheating with his friend's brother.

People do not change in a day.

God knows everything, but teenagers know it better.

Have many times in the last three years has someone given me advice, to which I reply, "I know"? I am having trouble deciding if "I know" is a defense mechanism, or the greatest lie that has ever been told in the history of the world. Adam scolds Eve and tells her to put back the fruit, Eve replies "I know." Teenagers get told every day that sex leads to complications, pregnancy, and possibly fatal illnesses, to which we roll our eyes and reply that "we know."

And we do know; there was a special class for pregnant girls at my old school. I've heard a few dozen or so rumors at Olaf's over who might be pregnant, who might have had an abortion, who might have been the cause of the herpes outbreak last month.

So the conclusion is that we don't care.

We will do it anyways.

They call it rebellion. We will call it adulthood. Freedom. Liberation. Fun.

It is not that we don't care; it's not even that we are tired of rules and expectations, and pressure. It is that we crave the experience, the physicality of having someone inside of you, the reality of plucking that apple and taking a bite, instead of looking at it and listening to someone else describe how that apple tastes.

I wanted the apple.

Rosalie wanted the apple.

Edward wanted the apple.

Jax wanted the apple.

We all want the apple.

And for our curiosity, for our sins, there is reality.

Rosalie is standing in the middle of her room; throwing clothes unfolded and wrinkled into a suitcase in a process she calls packing. There is a neat stack of textbooks on top of her unused hamper, Algebra I and Advanced Trigonometry amongst them.

I am watching her from the doorway, deliberately not packing my own belongings. To pack would mean that in four days I will be on a flight home. Putting my uniform away would represent an uncertain future—three months of going backwards, even I as try to stop the earth from turning so I can a have a single second to think.

Even know as I monitor the haphazard throwing of articles into a patterned, purple piece of luggage I am struggling.

I cannot stand here and watch this.

I grab my key and leave without saying a word.

My feet lead me to Edward's door, if only because I am harboring serious guilt and a monkey's worth of curiosity. Well, that and my actual inclination to see Emmett reminds me of five hours earlier, when he sailed out of ISS, acting like I hadn't been in the doorway at all.

His book bag had practically thrown me in a wall as he slid by me, eyes on the ground.

Edward had his headphones hanging around his neck as the door swung open. To his credit, he didn't look surprised.

It was Friday, his punishment for pulling the fire alarm was officially over, and Monday it would only be Emmett and me in that room, taking our finals.

"It's good you stopped by. I found some stuff that you missed when you moved out."

No bitterness, not in tone or expression. His green eyes were subtly taking stock of my yoga pants and black tank top, but it felt more like the gaze was doing deeper than the layers of fabric and skin that covered my insides. He stepped aside and motioned me in.

"You too huh?" I turned a complete circle and noticed the posters and framed pictures were gone. His sound system was missing from his shelf. The windowsill that had been cluttered with guitar picks and assorted small items were cleared.

"Me too?" Edward asked, standing next to me and following my gaze as it wandered. I had forgotten how tall he was. In Edward, height seemed less significant, whether it was because he slouched horribly (on purpose I suspected) or because he was physically less of a male presence than others. Edward had fluidity in his every movement, and the mental capability to swiftly hide every instinctive response if he chose to do so. His mind led, and his body followed.

Emmett's chest, filled to bursting and always slightly sticking out, led him where ever he went. Rosalie's chin, tipped up to meet everyone in the eye with a blatant 'fuck you' stare led the rest. Jasper and Jax both led with their hips, swaggering just enough to draw eyes to their lanky, lean torsos and their confidence.

And what did I lead with?

"Rosalie is clearing out her stuff too."

Edward nodded and his gaze pulled away from me, staring at the laundry basket full of shoes.

"She asked…she texted me last night and asked if I wanted to come with you and visit her this summer. She's staying in Miami with her brother, because her father is still furious with her."

I coughed.

"Funny, she never mentioned that to me." Nor did she mention that she and Edward were on speaking terms again.

Edward's face stayed completely straight, but I had a feeling he was laughing a little bit on the inside.

"Don't get it yet, do you? She wouldn't…she's asking for help. For company. Without actually asking of course."

Oh.

Christ.

Couldn't she have just taped a plane ticket to the bathroom mirror? Why ask Edward? Did Rosalie just know he would find a way to tell me? It's not like we had been spending a lot of time together lately.

Seriously. We lived in the same room. We had sex with mostly similar people. We shared a bathroom. I've seen her strung out on a piano.

But then, if Rosalie ever did come asking for help, I'd be alarmed and probably wondering if she was high. It's just the way she was.

"Help me take down my shower curtain?" Edward asked, tossing his IPod on his bed and already his way to the bathroom.

We squeezed into a bathroom even smaller than the one in my room, and I stood on the edge of the tub to hold the bar (which was incredibly unstable and bent, probably from someone hanging off of it in the past) while Edward unclipped his own shower curtain, which was black and had neon green guitars all over it.

And I studied him while he was reaching up and concentrating overly hard to get the plastic material off the old metal hooks.

"You're looking at me." I barely saw his lips move. The only indication that I could see of his speaking, despite my careful observation, was the tongue that poked out right before the words tumbled out to wet his pale lips.

"You're nice to look at."

"So are you." He briefly met my eyes and smiled. "Is your hair still going to be blue the next time I see you?"

I swung my head so I could catch a peripheral blur of color and hair as it swished forward and then back. I had thought multiple times about dying it back, or dying it all fire-engine red, or even brownish-blonde (Emmett would look good with a blonde), but I had always held off.

The blue made me different and noticeable.

Who's the girl with the blue streaks?

Oh, that's Alice Brandon.

It helped give me an identity here at this school and I was reluctant to let that go.

But I knew I didn't need the blue anymore.

I had people.

Names and numbers in a cell phone.

Possessions left in their rooms.

A person who would sit in ISS with me, even though I hadn't spoken to him outside of inane chatter since Christmas.

Who was huffing at a particularly difficult clip and pretending to not be waiting for me to answer a ridiculously simple question.

"My mom will flake and Rosalie bought the hair dye for me, but…." I shrugged, even though he wasn't looking at me. "I guess I just like it."

Edward hummed a reply that was noncommittal.

I cleared my throat and changed the subject.

"I didn't know Rosalie had spoken to you."

Eye roll.

Hand through the hair.

Another clip released and the curtain began to sag.

"She didn't. Well, at least not until I spoke to her first."

"That's pretty fucking noble of you, after…."

"You stepped all over my chest with your dainty girl shoes?" Edward supplied easily, with a crooked smile.

"Something like that."

Shrug.

"I'm not an idiot Alice. I knew she wasn't thinking of me like that. Not that she couldn't, otherwise I would have given up on her altogether ages ago. That's why I agree to all this you know, at least at first. Sure I wanted to stick it to some of my fellow classmates, that's always a plus in my book. But I joined for her. Because I had fucking been looking at her since she was thirteen and she had yet to look back. And people look at me. But she didn't, still doesn't really. Even when I was introducing her to Royce fucking King, the twatking of them all, or telling her I wanted her to make it with a chick, nothing. And while it does blow my mind that it never actually occurs to Rosalie to, I don't know, address a fucking problem for once in her life; I'm better off now than I was at the beginning of the year."

The curtain was down. He gave me two ends and took the other, maneuvering us out of the bathroom to give us more room to fold it.

"Are you really?"

Edward came toward me to fold it in half. I reached down and pulled the bottom up to fold it once more as he gave the plastic a hug to squeeze the air out of the curtain.

"Sure. I got a 4.0, banged a few chicks, got drunk a dozen or more times, made some new music, sabotaged some of the more obnoxious fucks out there, and spent my first day ever in suspension with four people who could give a shit less about money, status, cars, or clothes. It could have been a lot worse."

Really? It could have been?

"I never pictured you as an optimist, and it's severely traumatizing my opinion of you."\

Edward chuckled, bending over to shove the shower curtain into a Rubbermaid tub that was sunny yellow. "M'not. But you look like someone snipped off your ponytail again, so I figured I'd better find some silver fucking lining before you start crying or trying to tell me why exactly you lowered yourself to sleep with Jax Whitlock."

Ouch.

"Jasper would have been willing if you really wanted to get a taste of the legendary Whitlock charms and coffers."

Damn.

Touché Edward. Remind me never to ignore you again, since you've been stockpiling quips since Christmas.

And what else could I do except for take it? And take it gladly, if he was telling me that he still wanted to be my friend.

Edward's mouth was shifting from side to side, as though he was trying to decide something.

"I followed her."

"Wow, girls just love conversations that being with that stalkery little nugget."

"Shut up. I didn't mean it like that…I went after her, Rosalie, after she left. We were in the practice room in Eliza Kelly and she just left. I thought she'd yell at me or something.

I didn't know what I should say, I mean, 'don't you want to bitch at me and then storm out?' is just pointless, you know? So I took my time, trying to figure it out. And by the time I got up the steps, she was letting Professor Carlisle in the door. I almost thought I had to be mistaken, but she went in there with him and I just—I was pissed. She was sitting all 'woe the fuck is me' on top of my goddamn piano, and then she turns around and is screwing with him in her room?"

I eased back onto the bed, watching Edward pace, an action more indicative of his current state of anxiety than the blank look on his face.

"But she dropped math. And she was kissing Jasper in front of him….and she just looked so worn out when she in the music room. Rosalie isn't _that_ good of an actress. And if he was following her, after she had finally worked up the nerve to end it….I got pissed. And I panicked. And the fire alarm was the first thing in my line of sight."

I stared, not really looking at him, and he quirked a wry pair of lips at me.

Well.

Looking at the past year from this point, with it mostly in hindsight, it's a wonder Edward and I didn't work out. We didn't have a lot in common, but we had enough. A gift for reading people and Rosalie Hale come to mind first and foremost.

He wanted to protect her, make sure she was okay. And maybe a small bit of his subconscious was about what he wanted, but the majority was in favor of doing his best for his friend.

I grabbed Edward's hand and pulled him down to sit on the edge of the bed with me. He acquiesced easily and took my hand instead, gently tracing the peaks and valleys of my fingers.

"Was it worth it? Thinking you wanted her, doing…what we did, having to be told that you can't always get what you want, and pulling that fire alarm?"

Edward shrugged and hummed out another response.

I tilted my head to the side to look at one of his framed pictures of one of those painting where the staircases all lead back to the same place, while going somewhere different each time. It made me dizzy.

"I think it was."

Another hum, he was twisting my knuckles now. I scissored my fingers just to get an acceptable acknowledgement of my statement, but Edward kept his head down.

"I mean, the thing with Jax…I'd take it back, but for Emmett's sake. Not for Rose's. So does that mean I wouldn't take it back or that I would? And if I want to take it back, does that mean I'm the girl who puts her boyfriend in front of everyone and everything? Am I the girl who's imagining white dresses and infinite variations of meatloaf for dinner with her sixteen year-old boyfriend? If I could take it back, and throw Rosalie to the wolves, is that who I am?"

Edward's razor-sharp eyes turned on me and stared.

Thanks, that's not disconcerting or anything Edward.

But really, I was trying to ask a question here. One I desperately wanted an answer to. One I needed an answer to.

Could I be both? Could I be a friend who valued her friendships and someone who had a boyfriend that she (gulp) loved and wanted to do right by? Could I still be me if I was so attached to this people, or were their problems tainting my existence with their sinful existence?

Would I take it all back? If I could, would I stay home in Mississipi and "know" what it meant to compete and live and thrive in this cut-throat, complex environment, or would I experience the sex, the love, the betrayal, and all the other negatives that occur?

No.

Such a simple word. I had said it to Jax and severed a year-long affliction with his vicious charm and his face had fallen before a cool façade had risen up instantaneously.

No.

I wouldn't take it back. It was pointless to even wonder or think "what if." I made the choices; I saw the freedom that excessive money and intellect wrought. And even if I was still as confused as ever, I had learned.

Better yet, I experienced.

"I wouldn't take it back. Not any of it. "I declared, as confidently as my teenage addled brain could muster.

What other declaration could I make?

Edward let go of my hands and rose.

"Make sure you take these."

He handed me a box, presumably with the aforementioned contents I had left.

Funny how 'Make sure you take these' sounded a lot like, 'good for you.'

~~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

In my shoe box of belongings were a wealth of bobby pins, a pair of socks, a couple of sketching pencils, some folded up scratch drawings of dresses and clothes, and a blank CD that had the words "Indy Theme" across the front in black Sharpie.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Celibacy."

My eyes swung from the Spanish translations that were beginning to swim in front of my face. It was officially the Monday of finals, albeit 12:02 AM. I blinked repeatedly until my vision cleared and Rosalie's resolute face stared down mine, her textbook lying on the floor as she simultaneously did lunges and chanted verbs and vocabulary.

"Excuse you?"

"Celibacy. Abstinence. Self-denial. Torture. No nookie. Not until we're not so fucked up anymore."

WE?

"Uh, we?"

"You slept with a Whitlock."

"How many years it is going to be before you can't use that against me anymore?"

Rosalie smirked and started on squats, sticking her butt out and straining her toes upward as she sank onto her quads.

"Seriously. I'm going to be moving in with my brother, who is, if you can believe it, even more promiscuous than Jax or myself. I've slept with eight guys already, and technically one chick and I want there to be something left to do when I turn like, twenty, so….celibacy."

She made a good point, and truth be told, Rosalie could do with a little non-sex for a while. Still…

"I get why you need celibacy, but what if Emmett. Ahem. What if Emmett develops amnesia and forget that I slept with a Whitlock?"

Rosalie snorted.

"You haven't called, texted, emailed, or stalked Emmett since he walked out on you. That does not speak of a girl who wants said boy back." She straightened and glanced in the mirror, admiring the line of her thighs. "You know what else doesn't speak well of keeping said boy? Sleeping with a Whitlock."

I slumped back into my chair.

"I'm not…not doing the stalking thing because I know how pathetic that is when I'm the one who screwed up. And at the same time I can't say, if Emmett wants me, he'll come back, because what self-respecting person would do that after I did what I did?"

"Can you even say it out loud Alice? You gave Jax a blowjob. Blow. Job."

I rolled my neck and stared at the ceiling.

"Yes, that. There's no right way to go begging back to your boyfriend, and so I'm willingly miserable, because I deserve that."

"Yes you do."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome. But, question. You don't want to go begging back because why again?"

I gritted my teeth and spun in my chair to face her fully. Her arms were out, keeping her balance as she sank down lower and lower, making a painful face as she bounced on her heels.

"I'm the one who screwed up. To ask him to just take me back…that's cruel. And arrogant."

Rosalie considered this for a long time.

So long I had moved onto my paper describing my final sculpture project.

"Arrogant, or proud Alice?"

"What?"

"I'm just saying, are you not going over there and apologizing until you're blue in the face because you know he'll take you back even though he shouldn't, or are you too proud to admit you made a mistake and apologize until he can look at you? Not kiss you, not screw you through the mattress. Look at you. Because he can't. But he does. All day in ISS, sneaking peaks at you and looking sick to his stomach. Watching you. Even before…he swallowed his pride and let you take care of me even though he and I both know I just like to be babied sometimes. He watched you interact with Jasper and Edward. He told you he loved you, which is probably the biggest pride-swallower there is, especially when the other person doesn't say it back. So I'm asking; are you willing to be miserable because you don't want to deal with having to tell him that you're sorry and that you love the fuck out of him?"

She went back to her exercising. Her heavy puffs of air were the only sound in the room.

~**~*~*~*~*~*~*

I was a girl with a plan.

With a vision.

And with friends who would help.

Rosalie volunteered her handcuffs for my use, in case Emmett tried to run again.

But what I really needed was an Edward.

And Edward with a wicked smile to get past the secretaries and the knowledge of the phone code that set the phone to the "announcement" setting, which could be sent to specific classrooms to call students (or teachers) to the office.

"Mr. Dubois to the first aid room please. Mr. Dubois to the first aid room immediately please."

At 10:15 on Monday morning, in the middle of my literature final (which was all essay), Edward's best "sex operator" voice came across the speakers.

Mr. Dubois assured us someone would be there immediately to watch over us, and hurried out of the room.

I got up, leaned out of the hallway, caught sight of Rose (who clearly did not have to take her math final) and shut the door, locking it. Rosalie would knock if someone came looking for us.

Emmett was frowning at the trashcan, which was less than a foot away from me, which meant he was frowning at me, but unable to do it to my face.

So I walked up to him, placed both of my hands on either side of his face, and turned it over and up until he was looking at me.

This was a mistake.

A painful growl erupted from his chest, and then I was being propelled backwards, as in some strange déjà vu the chair he was sitting in and got out of so suddenly toppled and clanked loudly against the tiled floors.

He stood in the center of the room, a safe distance away from me; his back turned and shoulders heaving.

"Shit." He breathed softly, a frustrated exhalation. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Um, that would be screwing this up within five seconds of my plan going awry?

"Alice." Emmett turned around and yanked at his collar. "What's with the Mission Impossible scene? And why did Cullen just call Dubois all the way across campus for what I'm guessing is a fake emergency?"

I shifted my weight and tried to find something to do with my hands.

"I wanted…I wanted to apologize. Truly. Not some bullshit, I want us to be friends apology. Apology isn't even the right word, because it's just a pansy-ass way to avoid actually saying I'm sorry.

And I am sorry. I'm sorry. I am sorry for not finding a better way, for not talking to anyone before I just went off and did what I did. I'm sorry for thinking I knew my options. And I am the most sorry for not even noticing everything you've been doing for me since I first ran into you in the forest. I am so sorry for never noticing all the times you would reach over and edit my papers while I was trying to research in a book, or the times you'd switch out my chocolate chip cookie for your Jell-O cake because you know I like the strawberry filling. For all the hugs and kisses and jokes that you worked so hard to give because I was so busy doing everything but looking at you."

"Alice…"

"M'not done yet." I continued, breathing as evenly as possible. There were no tears. Tears would have made this easy. Made this about my guilt, about my sadness, but it was not. This was about him and the wrongs I needed to address. I didn't deserve easy for this. He deserved to hear these words, not see the tears.

"I can't say I love you yet. Because I wasn't paying attention, and I'm so mixed up that I'm not sure I even believe you can fall in love when you're in high school, because everyday something changes, and how you can love someone when they are entirely different the next day? I want you to know that because I used to be an honest person, and I'm going to be an honest person again. See, change? So I hope you understand, and I want you to know that sometimes, when Rosalie's blabbing on and on about her own tragic life, I wish you were there to pick on her, because you're the only one she'll take that crap from without some sort of hateful retort. I think about the things you would say, and then the things I would say. I think about all that, but I don't think you know that. So um, now you do."

I swallowed and felt my heart hammering in my chest, because I was done talking now. And it would be all up to him now, without my interference because I couldn't be in his brain, couldn't meddle or persuade my way into making this work out right.

But at least now we were even. He had told me the truth, and I had repaid the favor. His "I love you" had given me clarity to what I had lost and what I had gained.

My almost "I love you" would hopefully give him everything I had been thinking about on loop for months, but had never said.

If Emmett decided he couldn't accept that my declaration was so much less than his, then I would have to learn to walk away.

One of his hands ghosted near my ear, pushing my hair back.

He was there.

In front of me, towering and looking at his hand or my ear, and smelling so good. Sleeves rolled up, jacket off, tie loosened, red Converses loosely laced with shiny, new white laces. Palms so large my entire cheek felt the heat of him.

Dark eyes contemplatively avoiding my gaze, lips loosely parted as he leaned in and inhaled.

Smelling my hair.

"Rosalie came to see me. So did Cullen. Jasper didn't invade my dorm room, but he did sit down at dinner and told me I could use his branding stick if I just wanted to brand you so everyone would know how…'smitten' you were with me."

Thick fingers, surprising in their nimbleness, adjusted the collar of my own shirt, fixing the crooked knot of my tie.

"I saw them too…well, not Jasper."

Emmett snorted, a comfortingly familiar sound. "He's completely wigged out that you fucked his brother. Afraid he'd lose his cool trying to talk to you about it, not that I blame him."

I allowed my lips to curl into a small smile at the thought of Jasper interrogating me about the activities between me and his older brother. Awkward.

"I want to forgive. The words just about come out every time I look at you. I just want it to go away. But even if I say I do, I'm not sure I mean it. I know it won't go away. And I'm so friggin pissed that whenever I see you, I think about…what you told me. But will it be any better if I touch you, and cuddle you on top of me and do-over everything that we've done, just so anything he did won't exist anymore? That's what I keep asking myself. Which will be better? Not having you and thinking about it, or being inside of you and thinking about it?"

I choked on my answer. "I don't know."

Emmett dropped his hands and they slid into his pockets.

"Me either."

A sharp knock on the door told me our time was coming to an end.

Emmett's eyes darted to the door and then back to my own.

"What the hell right? I just gotta know."

And then he was kissing me, and Mr. Dubois was shouting about 'what in the hell' and my stomach clenched so hard it knocked out my hearing, cleared the air right out of my lungs, and knocked every lucid thought right from my brain in the way that only two things can: one of them is love.

And I believe I have just experienced the other.

Redemption.


	30. Alone I Would Have Perished

A/N: So I know I said Epilogue will go up on Friday and it's now probably Sunday where you are. My bad, but I had a brain fart of EPIC proportions. You see, when I posted chapter 29, I was so relieved to be done that I kind of forgot to post THE REST OF THE CHAPTER. Like, all 8 pages of it. So I tweaked and added and made it its own chapter. My sincere apologies, but you do technically get two chapters, so maybe it's okay???

_**I'm a small woman. I need big hair.**_

Chapter 30: Alone I Would Have Perished

Emmett, Edward, and I were placed in separate ISS rooms for the remainder of the school year.

Dean Regan just shook his head at me when I got called down.

"I knew right from the moment you walked in here that you were going to be a feisty one Miss Brandon."

Something in the way his mustache twitched told me this was not a bad thing.

"Solitary confinement." Edward called it with a grin as he eyed Emmett, who was keeping his distance since we had been barged in upon by the stout Mr. Dubois and sent to the office, again.

On my last day of finals I sat there, completely finished with my very first year at Olaf's, and waited.

Watched the clock, counted the minutes, and tried to distract myself.

When the bell finally rang, it was a free for all inside the hallways, but I wasn't interested in tossing things out of my locker, or hugging the jubilant crowd of teenagers who were just granted three months of freedom.

I ran outside and stopped to squint in the sunlight.

Standing there, long legs bare beneath a rolled to be indecent plaid skirt, open-collared white button-up exposing just a hint too much cleavage, basking in the sunshine, was Rosalie Hale with the biggest smile I think I had ever seen from her.

Impulsively I rushed for her and hugged her tightly, grinning when she grunted in surprise, but then returned the hug tightly.

"Girl on girl!"

"Yeah, squeeze that ass!"

"Does Dr. Carlisle know you're into the lesbo scene?"

Simultaneously, still attached, Rosalie and I flipped up our middle fingers at the mockers.

"I can't believe the school is still standing after this year." Rosalie dug through her bag until she found her oversized shades.

"I can't believe we're still standing."

Rosalie cocked an eyebrow at me.

"No faith in my ability to get you through your first year at Olaf's?"

She laughed and grabbed my hand, pulling me along.

"Come on, I see he boys."

The boys were indeed waiting for us a little bit further down the path. Edward, Jasper, and Emmett standing there, shooting the breeze, all with ridiculous happy smiles on their gorgeous faces.

"Ladies." Jasper shot us a grin. "Congrats on surviving the storm."

There was a snort of amusement and a cough.

"We _are_ the storm." Both Rosalie and Edward spoke at the exact same time.

There was a beat of silence as Edward and Rosalie stared at each other.

Rosalie broke first, smiling and shrugging as the rest of us laughed and teased them. We ambled down the pathway, joyous in our victory, smug in our accomplishments.

We had survived indeed.

As the boys stopped to drop us off at Whitlock, I hesitantly reached out to touch Emmett's arm.

His eyes turned curiously down towards me.

"I need some help with something, and I need a good pair of hands to do it."

His brow furrowed a bit more, but he agreed and came up the stairs with him.

"Need help moving the wardrobe?" Emmett guessed, and I smiled as Rosalie trailed slightly behind us.

"No, Rosalie's movers will take care of it when they get here tomorrow."

Tomorrow.

And then the day after, Saturday, would be the day I had to go home.

I was coming back.

I pushed the thoughts away.

Rosalie gave me a small smile and informed us she was leaving to 'run.'

I knew very well that Rose had gone for a five mile job last night, and did not need the exercise, but I appreciated the privacy, even if it wasn't for sex like she thought.

"Wow. Empty." Emmett gazed around the room.

And it was. All of my things had been reluctantly stored away and folded inside of a suitcase. Rosalie's belongings were currently stacked in her room, half-packed. The walls were bare and the desk empty. It just looked weird.

"So what do you need my help for?" I noticed that Emmett's eyes kept going to my bed, which was unmade and currently housing my book bag, suitcase, and laundry.

"I need you to help dye my hair."

"What?"

"My hair. I can only imagine what they would say in Biloxi, and my mom would be convinced I've taken up with the devil or something….so I need to change it before she sees it."

Emmett looked uncomfortable, shifting and swaying where he stood.

"Should Rose do that? I….I've never dyed anyone's hair.

I smiled and tugged him into the bathroom, stepping into the tub portion and loosening my tie, pulling it off me and then undoing my collar.

"There are instructions on the box." I pointed to the box, which was sitting on the counter above the sink.

"Mississippi Mahogany…very fitting." Emmett read, turning the box over to read the fine print.

"Don't forget the latex gloves."

And while Emmett was reading, I unbuttoned my shirt and tossed it over the towel rack as well, debating about drips onto my skirt.

"Alice, are you sure-" Emmett broke off as he looked up.

Then he looked slightly south and his eyes fixed on my light blue bra.

"Fuck." He closed his eyes and I valiantly stifled a giggle. "Alice, what are you doing to me?"

I could actually see what I was doing to him, even through the black material of his pants. I smiled, apologetic even though he couldn't see me, and touched his arm again.

"I'm sorry." It's funny how easy those words came out now, like I was comfortable enough to be flawed around my boyfriend, if he still was my boyfriend. "Look at me Emmett."

One eye cracked open.

"It's not looking that's a problem."

The lone eyeball was again taking stock of my push-up bra.

"You don't have to touch me, except for my head. And you have the gloves, so you won't get any cooties."

The eyeball turned baleful.

"Please?"

Emmett snapped on the gloves and reread the directions nearly a dozen times. By the time he actually began working the dye into my head, my stomach was grumbling.

His touch was hesitant but firm, and with both of his hands working, they nearly covered my entire scalp.

In between, while we were waiting, Emmett leaned back against the opposite walls, arms crosses, in his stained dark brown gloves.

"You going to call me this summer?" He asked finally.

"So often, Rosalie will bitch about me taking up the majority of the minutes to our joint cell plan." I assured him with a grin.

"I haven't been to Tennessee for the summer since I was eight. That's where my dad's folks are."

I had never heard Emmett talk about his parents before, and I smiled as I thought about a young Emmett running around the wilds of the south.

"My dad lives in Bear Creek, Pennsylvania now, and he's retired. All he's ever known is the military, and after he had to have knee replacement, he didn't know what to do with himself. So he bets on the dogs a few times a week, and plays roulette and black jack and Texas Hold Em. There's a few women too…I think he's actually going to marry one of them. Not much of a cook, my dad. He wasn't rich, exact opposite actually. He grew up in a trailer with my grandparents in Tennessee and played football for Penn State. That's where he met my mom. She was a Heinz…like the ketchup right? She had lupus and died when I was six. My dad inherited all the money, but he's gambled most of it away. It's not like I need it; I'll get a scholarship somewhere for college and I can make my own way…but my dad's a mess and he doesn't want me around, so I'm going to stay with my Grandparents this summer."

It was time to rinse, but I sensed Emmett wasn't done purging his life story yet, and so I kept quiet.

"You remind me of summers in Tennessee. You always have. And you remind me of balancing the checkbook and filling out the taxes, wondering how I was supposed to explain that eighty thousand dollars just disappeared from our account? You remind me of having to work to get where you want to go, and how it's not about the money."

Emmett pushed off the wall and walked to the tub.

"Time to rinse."

And when I was standing in the tub, in only my bra and skirt, dripping Mississippi Mahogany water droplets all over the white tub, Emmett cupped my cheeks with his latex gloves and rolled my head from side to side, keen eyes looking for a missed spot.

"All gone." He murmured quietly. He might have been looking at me, but I was too busy staring at his lips.

"Alice, are you going to kiss me?" Those lips turned up, revealing his top row of teeth.

"Yes."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Being the juvenile delinquents that we were, while the graduation ceremony was going on in the auditorium, we were sitting by the lake, our bags packed and sitting in our empty rooms. In just over an hour a taxi would be here to take me to the airport.

Emmett sat next to me on one of the benches, his arms folded across his chest, not touching me. But he was looking at me, and not at the lake, so I tried not to feel all girly and hurt that he didn't seem more disappointed I was leaving.

Rose, Jasper, and Emmett were on the grass in front of our bench, Rosalie and Edward sharing a set of earbuds, and Jasper occasionally checking his phone for messages.

His brother was walking across the stage right now, and Jasper was missing it. I'm assuming those voicemails and texts were from his family, wondering where the hell he was.

"Upperclassmen. We'll get to have cars, and no curfew, and I put in my request for two singles in Matheson. The bathrooms are huge."

Jasper leaned his head back to look at me. "Not sharing next year?"

"No." Rosalie and I both said.

"We're the kind of people that need space." Rosalie amended, giving me a smile.

It was true; we were.

"So….Miami?" Edward asked a few minutes later, reaching his arms back for me to pull on and stretch.

"Miami? I thought it was Mississippi?" Jasper asked, looking at Rosalie.

Even Emmett was looking at Rose.

She stared at me.

"By the way, we're coming to visit you for my birthday."

I blinked.

"Oh."

"Well, I'm going to be in Miami anyway, and Jasper will be like, roping cows in Texas, and Emmett will be in Tennessee, so we might as well visit. And Edward has more money than god, so he can fly down."

I looked at Emmett, who was hiding a grin, presumably at the shocked stupid look on my face.

"Really?"

Edward snorted.

"This is what you _do_ if you have money, get used to it."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

As the first people dressed in those ridiculous hats began appearing on the lawn, we reluctantly got up and started heading toward Whitlock, where my cab would be arriving in just fifteen minutes.

We were walking against the flow of traffic, lazily traversing the sidewalk, taking up the entire thing, Emmett and I trailing slightly behind Rose, Jasper, and Edward.

Emmett's hand, warm and large, slipped into mine.

"So I'll be seeing you in July?"

I nodded and nearly smacked into Jasper's back as they had stopped short in front of us.

Moving to the side, to be able to see what the hell was going on, I pushed my way in between Edward and Jasper and stared.

Wearing royal blue graduation robes, holding the cardboard hat in one hand, and her valedictorian's speech in the other, hair curled and gleaming under the sun, Tanya Denali stood in the middle of the walk way, inches away from Rosalie's face.

Rosalie wasn't wearing heels, and Tanya was, giving her a slight edge.

Rosalie was blankly looking at her, silently asking why the hell she was in our way.

Tanya smiled, a large, toothy smile that was overly sincere.

"Hello Rosalie."

"Hi Tanya." Rosalie robotically replied, but made no attempts to move to the side. Of course she wouldn't, she would stand there like in that Dr. Seuss story until the end of time.

"Too bad about you and Dr. Carlisle." She said, her eyes hard.

My head snapped around.

"_I didn't do it." _ Jax's voice whispered to me.

Rosalie's face had bloomed with color. Her jaw visibly tightened, and her composure was noticeably strained. She nodded, silent, accepting what we all knew.

Tanya's smile increased incrementally further and she stepped to the side, allowing us to pass by.

We did so silently, parting the oncoming crowds as we continued to our destination.

In the end I guess, karma will catch up with you.

I caught sight of Jax and his family as we walked by, Jasper reluctantly telling us goodbye as he joined them. He held my gaze for a second before I turned away and continued walking.

Rosalie grabbed my hand as we passed the faculty, Dr. Carlisle not even ten feet away and clearly watching her.

People split like the Red Sea for us, identifying us as different.

As not like Them.

My taxi was already waiting when we got to Whitlock. Emmett went to grab my bags and Rose turned to face me, still looking a bit peaked.

"Don't you fucking dare say goodbye to me. I will see your ass here on September 1st, even if that means I have to pay your entire tuition and bribe the school board to let you come here."

I swallowed the lump in my throat.

"You'll see my ass in June; don't be such a girl about this Rose."

Heavy steps alerted us that Emmett was back, hauling both of my massive bags with him.

He tossed them in the back and looked at us standing a few feet apart awkwardly. He rolled his eyes at me and I did my best to smile.

"Those bags are almost bigger than you are…you sure you can get those into the airport all by yourself?"

I nodded mutely, having a hard time getting out words. God, I was being ridiculous. Most people would want to go home. Most people would be relieved that summer vacation was three marvelous months of no school.

"K. I need to go see how the movers are doing. Call me when you get back to the swamp."

And with one more hug, she was gone.

"Hey."

I glanced up, wincing as my tears began to run over my cheeks.

"Don't do that. I can't…just stop." His thumbs wiped away the teardrops and he promptly rubbed them on his t-shirt.

Emmett stooped to quickly kiss me on the lips and then straightened.

"Hey."

I sniffled and stomped my foot, looking away and trying to hold in my tears.

"I still love you."

My head snapped back to him.

He looked scared, and a bit grim around his beautiful eyes, but he was staring at me intently, as though he wanted to make sure I heard him.

Oh, I heard him all right.

Loud and clear.

I launched myself at his chest and hugged him as tightly as I could, feet dangling off the ground, lacking any air because he was hugging me just as hard.

The cabbie honked impatiently.

Emmett reluctantly set me back on the ground, fists clutched in my shirts.

And with one more kiss, I hurled myself in the back of the taxi with my bags, watching out the back window where he stood, larger than life, until we drove past the gates of St. Olaf's.

_I will see your ass here on September 1__st__. _I silently repeated Rosalie's word in my head_._

I made the same promise to Emmett as he disappeared from sight.

The black wrought iron gate with its bronzed motto loomed for a long time as I watched the past year fade away from me.

_Alone I Perish; Together We Succeed._


	31. Epilogue

_A/N: The world's biggest thanks and box of Thin Mints to Miztrezboo, MissLooneyLovegood, and Ruby Wednesday who are my own personal crew of Elitists, and the reason this story is finished, and probably as good as it is. Drop them a line and tell them thanks, because without all the hilariousness and partially nude men, I would be a very sad, very mopey FoG._

Chapter 31: Epilogue

_**What we call the beginning is often the end. And to make an end is to make a beginning. The end is where we start from.**_

September 1

St. Olaf's Academy is the second most prestigious boarding school in the country and the outright the best co-educational boarding school. Anyone who was lucky enough to grace the hallowed halls would certainly be in competition for any number of Ivy League colleges.

Settled against a small lake in rural Massachusetts, the ivy-covered bricked and wrought iron buildings were nearly were dark and forbidding, while the manicured lawns, stone paths, and perfectly shaped bushes welcomed with just a hint or arrogance and the almost tangible aroma of money.

The students passing by were all blue-blooded, genetically gifted people; not just in intellect but in physicality. There were no genetic defects here; no bad hair cuts or skin marred with pimples. There were no Target-brand labels, no second hand sneakers, not a single wrinkle in their designer label clothing. Their jewelry was real and glittered even in the unusual, overcast weather. Thousands of dollars literally hung off the bones of slender, perfectly curved bodies; dollars that would be tossed into the back of a closet or shipped off to a goodwill store within the year, replaced with new couture.

And then there was me, standing outside the gates to paradise.

But I no longer was the outsider, but neither was I one of Them.

I had carefully stacked my two suitcases in the middle of my new double room, which Rosalie had assured me the my roommate would mysteriously "decide she wanted a single", thus guaranteeing me double the space.

Everyone walked in either pairs or groups, arms slung around each other as they reminisced over summers probably spent at some gigantic summer mansion on some very privatized lake resort. They dazzled and effortlessly charmed and intimidated. They glittered and shone.

But they didn't intimidate me.

I once thought they were the Elite, the untouchable, gifted people that would never see beyond the balance of my checking account.

They parted like the red sea for me, eyes not meeting mine directly, but acknowledging that I was there, acknowledging that I belonged amongst them, if not precisely within their clique.

"Hey! New girl!"

My head snapped up.

"Yes?" I cringed at the sound of my unsophisticated twanging tones sounding so redneck next to the pealing bell tones of the supermodel pretty blonde girl in front of me. She was perhaps the most stunning specimen on this campus of models. Her cheeks glowed and she was beyond tanned, and her teeth shone blindingly white as her smile took up her entire face.

She looked happy.

"You're late!"

And then Rosalie Hale pulled me into her arms in an uncharacteristic display of affection, laughing and causing every person in the vicinity to stare at us.

"Get a room will you?"

I turned at the sound, and nearly gasped at the gorgeous man who was standing there in a pair of caramel colored Abercrombie's and a dark blue button up, rolled at the sleeves, exposing toned forearms and large, thick hands. I don't know why those forearms were the first thing I saw, perhaps because he was so much taller than me.

His eyes were travelling over me as well, assessing every inch. I blushed and shifted slightly away, uncomfortable with how close he was without my even knowing it.

"If we do, do you wanna join us?" Rose purred, the laughter evident in her voice.

"I thought you retired from threesomes." Edward appeared, hair longer and more tousled than ever, grinning lopsidedly in greeting.

"I retired from threesomes with your ugly ass."

"Is my ass ugly? Because I haven't gotten laid since I left the airport in Houston."

Jasper winked at me and threw an arm around Edward jokingly.

I heard this all dimly. My attention was fixed on the man in front of me.

"I vote we take Edward's Astin Martin into town and be obnoxious about how much money we have." Rosalie said.

Emmett's eyebrow quirked up at me.

I cleared my throat.

"Yeah…we'll catch up with you guys later." I gave them my best apologetic smile and grabbed Emmett's hand, tugging him toward my new dorm room, hearing the laughter ringing behind me.

Even Emmett was laughing, though I noticed he was already ahead of me, his long stride making up for my quick, short ones.

Finally he just scooped me up over his shoulder and began to walk (quickly) toward Matheson.

The people got the hell out of his way.

As he strode past, nearly running over two freshman girls who turned to gawk.

"Who _was_ that?"

A bottle redhead with a too pointy face turned at their words.

"That's Emmett McCarty and one of his girlfriends, Alice Brandon."

"_One_ of his girlfriends? Is there an application process?"

Claire DeLane's voice could be heard clearly, even though we were well past them by now and heading into Matheson Hall to have some of the best reunion sex in the history of reunion sex.

"They're different. Separate from the rest of us. I'm not telling you what to do, but if I were you, I wouldn't start anything with them."

Damn right you didn't start anything with us.

We were tight.

We were a unit.

We were Elite.

_**A/N #2: Okay, so I know you're going SEQUEL! Well…let me be candid. Probably not. I always planned on ending it like this. If there ever is a sequel (again probably NOT), it will be a very long time in the future. However, no worries. I'm already hard at work on the next story and I will be posting a teaser, so look out for that. Thanks for reading and for taking this crazy ride for me. I hope you enjoyed it **__****_


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